Shadow in the Water
by moviedragon009
Summary: Arriving in the shadowy world of Gotham City, a young mermaid finds her insatiable curiosity attracted to the mysterious Dark Knight and becomes swept up in his efforts to save the city from itself. But she couldn't have come at a worse time, for the Joker has escaped from Arkham Asylum, and this time he has a terrifying new ally... Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: ****Before anyone asks, this story isn't part of any previously established continuity. However, I will state for the record that this takes inspiration primarily from the Nolanverse films.  
**

Nighttime in Gotham was different from nighttime anywhere else; in most places, there were those back alleyways or even entire blocks or sectors of towns that one had to avoid just to make it home safe. In some ways, it could be like navigating a jungle, complete with rapacious predators that specialized in money, drugs, and sex. But a visitor to Gotham would observe that the inhabitants were somewhat more comfortable out on the streets after dark than they would be anywhere else, though the more intelligent of them still took precautions. They would still see the occasional shady character meandering their way through the crowds and the streets, but in sparser numbers than anywhere else and avoid the dark alleys, as well as cast a wary glance up at the sky, like a rat who knew that an owl was on the prowl. Then that same visitor would look up at the night sky, curious to what those shady characters were afraid of, and depending on the conditions, would see a bat-shaped emblem framed in a round light.

Of course, one would have to be a complete novice to not know about Gotham's legendary Batman, visitor or not.

This night, however, the common street criminal had little to fear from the Caped Crusader, though fortunately for the common civilian they didn't know that; as a matter of fact, the masked figure known as Batman was soaring high in the sky, looking down at the city bay from his aircraft, which Lucius Fox had nicknamed 'The Batwing'. Anyone wandering around on the docks bothering to look up with the naked eye would have seen nothing but a dark spot that could've been anything, but a closer observer would have seen this aircraft to be a truly strange machine; technically speaking, it could be described like a cross between a V-22 Osprey and a Stealth Bomber, but to the average man it would have resembled a large mechanical black beetle the size of a semi-truck, with short, flexible wings on the side fitted with rotors that thrummed in the air. The craft flew through the dark clouds almost silently save for the thrumming from the rotating blades, but that for the most part was dampened by special technology.

Inside the cockpit, Batman looked over the digital display: he was coming up on his target, a freighter floating about a mile away from the shoreline, quite fast. He prayed that this wouldn't be a dead end; for the past several months, he and Commissioner James Gordon had been investigating a spike in the firepower of the weaponry amongst the most notorious of Gotham's mobs and mafias; quite a few bulletproof vests failed to keep their wearers safe. Having secured one of the rifles during the investigation, Batman found that the weapons were constructed using parts purchased from multiple weapons manufacturers; ideally, it would make it so that the purchaser of the original parts would manage to go unnoticed, eerily similar to how Batman himself had managed to create his identity.

To solve the problem, Batman went and interrogated one of the buyers of the weapons, and thus learned of an auction where the arms dealer was supposed to show off some of his latest guns. That led him to this unsuspicious freighter far out from the docks. If Batman's deductions were right, then that would easily lead to the apprehension of not only the mystery dealer, but also of some of Gotham's major mob leaders. It was a chance too good not to take.

As he decreased the Batwing's altitude, Batman could see the freighter slowly coming into view up ahead; the deck was illuminated in golden light that revealed the ship's red and white coloration, as well as the large steel containers that lined its surface. It could've been any ordinary cargo ship, but if his lead had been right, this had to be the one he was looking for.

It was time to put the plan into motion.

The Batman punched in a numeral command into the onboard computer, and a small disc was launched into the air and toward the ship. He watched as the lights on deck began to flicker and fade; the EMP was busy at its job already, but there wasn't much time to waste before the lights came back on at full strength again. Bringing the Batwing to a halt, so as to stay out of the range of the EMP, he flipped a switch and pressed a button, and the A.I. replied, "Autopilot engaged."

He pulled a lever, and the windshield around him opened up with a whizzing sound, letting in the chilly night air and the smell of the ocean with a burst of wind. In a single motion, Batman hoisted himself out of the cockpit, leaped out of the Batwing and into empty space. Entering free fall, he felt his heart begin to race as the wind whipped against his body and the surface of the water began to draw closer. But then, right on schedule, his cape unfurled from his pack; the moment he grabbed it, the electrical current flowed out of his gloves and turned the cape into a semi-rigid gliding surface, and in effect giving him wings. With the air now on his side, his body pulled upwards and began to glide towards the boat, just as the lights finally flickered out and allowing the dark of the night to smother the vessel. For a moment, he silently reveled in the exhilaration of flight; no matter how many times he did it, there was nothing quite like soaring through the air unhindered.

Several flashlights began to glimmer on deck; he had to choose a landing site and fast. Adjusting his flight path, he began to soar towards the highest stack of crates, a good location to start. Nearer and nearer he came, until at last he arrived, let go of the cape, and curled up as he landed, rolling along the top of the crate and coming to a halt on both legs. Peering down, he observed as two men, both very brutal looking and both carrying submachine guns turned the corner and began stalking their way down. If that wasn't a clue as to what—or who—was aboard this ship, then nothing else was.

"I'm tellin' ya, Mac," the younger and scruffier of the two was saying, "We oughta jump the boat before we get our rears handed to us, ya know? I don't know 'bout you, but I don't wanna see any Batman, tonight."

Apparently the 'strike fear into the heart of the enemy' part of his getup really worked; his reputation long preceded him.

"You really oughta get it through your thick skull that there's no Batman" the elder of the two shot back, "First you start jumping because you see a fish, and now you start cryin' Bat just because the lights go out just outside of Gotham. Get yourself together, Rick."

"First of all," Rick replied, "it wasn't a fish; it was a _mermaid_. I saw it with my own eyes. Second of all, this is how it all starts: the lights go out, and then people start dropping like flies!"

Superstitious and cowardly lot indeed, Batman thought to himself as the two thugs came closer. They walked right below him, and as they passed, Mac stated, "Look, everyone knows that the cops made the whole thing up to scare everyone in Gotham. There's no way some giant pterodactyl thing runs around and knocks people's lights out."

Deciding it was time to prove otherwise, Batman jumped from his perch and softly landed behind them, using his cape as a parachute to silence the landing. Moving fast, he grabbed the two men by the heads and clocked them together, knocking Rick out. Mac, however, seemed to have a thicker skull; pulling himself around, the man raised the barrel of his gun, only to have it yanked out of his hands and given a solid punch to the gut. Moaning in pain, Mac fell to the ground; lifting him by the collar of his jacket, Batman growled, "Where are they? Where are the bosses meeting?"

"I ain't saying ANYTHING!" Mac said, though with fear warping his voice and flashing the whites of his eyes. To persuade him, Batman heaved the large man and held him over the railing of the ship above the roaring foam of the water. "They're down below in the cargo hold!" Mac whimpered, "Please don't kill me!" Satisfied with the answer, the Dark Knight knocked him out cold with a swift punch, and left him next to his unconscious comrade.

Swiftly and silently, Batman stole his way across the deck, taking out the rest of the gunmen one by one with all the efficiency and stealth that he had been taught, until at last he was content that everyone on deck other than him was out of commission. At last he came across the door leading to the decks below, flanked by two guards—whom he proceeded to unleash a smoke grenade, blinding them and inciting a barrage of coughing, before moving in and knocking them both out. The door itself, though heavy and creaky, offered little trouble.

Stepping through the entrance, Batman was somewhat surprised to find that the lights inside the long hallway still shone, though dimly. Perhaps they had brought a backup generator with them, but it wouldn't save his prey from justice. Picking up the pace, he followed the signs down the hall and down the stairs to the cargo hold, and along the way was further surprised to find that there was no resistance to meet him. He began to be suspicious at first, but supposed that perhaps they had concentrated their main forces on the deck with the vain assurance that so many of their men could take on one.

At last, he found the entrance to the cargo hold. Here, he proceeded with an extra amount of caution; surely if this is where the bosses and the dealer were all holed up in, there would be a legion of gunmen behind the door, ready to welcome him with a barrage of bullets. Batman let the door swing open, expecting the sound of guns being cocked and loaded. There was none, but he could hear a voice echoing through:

"…As you can see, gentlemen, with these enhancements, this little birdie has twice the range of your standard 9 millimeter, not to mention with less noise thanks to the mufflers I've personally added. But perhaps you'd like to see the more advanced lineup…"

The dealer was definitely in there. The strange thing though was that Batman faintly recognized the craggy voice, that of a man in his mid-fifties that was more of a squawk than anything else. Where had he heard it before?

That answer would have to wait, though. Taking an enormous risk, Batman peered around the corner…and saw no one in his way. This was strange, very strange. But perhaps the entry way was booby-trapped; not wanting to take yet another unnecessary risk, he extracted a spray can from his utility belt and released a fine mist across the floor. But no beams of light shone. It was almost an open invitation to walk right inside…

He stepped right on through and entered a large room dimly lit by red light and made into a maze by stacked crates. Proceeding on, Batman made his way towards the sound of the voice as it went on, and continued to rack his brain as to the last time he had heard such a distinct voice before…

"Now _this _one I'm sure men of your distinct occupation would be VERY interested in," the voice of the dealer went on, "Using a very generous donation from Star Labs, this particular prize first fires a beam of super-heated plasma that will eat away at any material that might prove bulletproof. Obviously that's the intended purpose, but I imagine that you fine gentlemen will find other uses for it."

He was very close now, just behind the corner; Batman reached for his utility belt, and this time extracted a smoke grenade armed with a knockout gas. All he had to do was toss it into the crowd, and in a matter of seconds everyone (except him, of course) would be out cold.

"But perhaps I've done enough talking," the voice continued, "I think that you would be more persuaded with a live demonstration of this product's capabilities…"

A heavy growl erupted behind him. Batman turned around to see a huge muscular man wearing old jackets and other worn articles of clothing lunge towards him out of a hidden nook in the crates. The man's face was wrapped up in scarves, but his burning red eyes blazed out from within as he threw his fist into Batman's stomach with remarkable strength, propelling the Caped Crusader backwards and causing him to keel over in great agony. The attacker then grabbed him by the arms, dragged him around the corner, and then flipped him over his head and slammed him into the floor.

The pain was nigh blinding, but Batman had been trained to handle this kind of torture; pulling himself together, he looked over into the other direction and squinted at his target: the man standing above him was short and rotund, and wore a black and white tuxedo. The sparse hair on his balding head was long, scraggly, and black, and was accompanied by small, beady eyes and a large, almost beak-like nose. A cigarette glowed softly in his mouth, trailing smoke in the air and giving off a faint, red glow.

"The Batman? Well, what do you know!" the man said in a tone that suggested a mix of both true and mock surprise, "It looks like we have a very special guest with us! Won't you say hello to the folks at home?" He then stepped aside to reveal a large HD television monitor topped with a webcam showing some of Gotham's most notorious crime bosses sitting at a long desk in what looked like a fine hotel.

It was a trap after all. Batman cursed himself within for not having realized it sooner.

Grabbing him by both wrists, the large man hauled Batman up into the air, so that he could look the arms dealer in the eye. Just past him, he could see the long table lined with various pistols and rifles, each one retrofitted with some new component. Beyond that, he could see stacks of crates marked "CAUTION: EXPLOSIVES" and "HANDLE WITH CARE" on their surfaces.

"I take it that your informant was, for lack of a better word, informative?" the dealer said to him, "I made especially sure of that, you know."

"Oswald…Cobblepot," Batman identified him through clenched teeth. Having had a good look at his face, he finally recognized the arms dealer.

"So you've been to my casino, then?" Cobblepot inquired, "Yes, provides quite the cover, doesn't it? I'd love to chat some more, but these good people are expecting a show." He then spoke to the lumbering man, saying, "Hold him steady. We're about to have a live demonstration."

"But you said I could…" the man protested in a deep guttural growl.

"And you _will_, Mister Jones, I assure you, all in good time. But only after the demonstration, and I assume that you would want your meal cooked, this time?"

Heaving a deep sigh, 'Mister Jones' hoisted Batman a little bit higher up into the air. Cobblepot, meanwhile, grabbed a long, metallic rifle from the table. Turning to the monitor, he said, "Pay close attention, gentlemen. Tonight, not only do you get to witness the end of one of your greatest enemies, but also the revolutionizing of criminal warfare. You will have your city back in your control, once more." He then aimed the barrel straight at the symbol on the chest of Batman's armor. "This first shot," he explained as he clicked a button that caused a soft hum to emanate from the gun, "should melt right through the body armor in a matter of…well, to be fair, this is the first time I've tested this out, so we'll just have to see."

But Batman was not about to let that happen. Pressing two of his fingers into the palm of his hand, he pressed a button that sent out a burst of electricity through his bladed gauntlets, eliciting a roar of pain from Mister Jones and causing him to loosen his grip. In a single swift motion, Batman dropped down to the ground and performed a sweep kick on his opponent, felling the huge being to the ground. Spinning around again, he leaped towards Cobblepot and grabbed at the gun. The force of his jump took the older man off the ground, and the two of them crashed into the television, utterly destroying it. They landed on the ground amongst the shattered pieces of the monitor, and Batman managed to wrest the rifle out of Cobblepot's hands.

But just at that moment, the gun fired a bolt of red light towards the crates, and upon impact the crates burst into flame, setting off the wail of the fire alarm.

"You IDIOT!" Cobblepot squawked, "That's an entire shipment of grenades, and you've set it to blow!"

With surprising force, Cobblepot pulled his legs up and kicked Batman in the abdomen, forcing him to fall over to the left side. This allowed the arms dealer to jump onto his feet and run for the exit with unusual speed, leaving the groaning Mister Jones lying on the floor behind him, saying, "He's all yours if you want him!"

He can't get away, Batman thought to himself. Getting back onto his feet, he charged after Cobblepot, escaping the smoke-filled chamber and racing through the cacophony of flashing red lights and screaming red sirens that filled the narrow hallway. He emerged back onto the deck to find that many of the henchmen were already filling up the lifeboats, and up ahead he saw Cobblepot racing towards one of them. From his utility belt, Batman pulled out a bola and threw it with as much strength as he could muster; with a whooshing sound, it wrapped around its targets ankles, causing him to stumble and fall. At least this night wasn't a total loss, Batman thought for a moment.

But then a roar burst from behind him, and he found himself being tackled from behind onto the deck. He and his attacker rolled onto the ground for several yards before colliding with the side of a crate. He looked up, and saw Mister Jones crouching over him; most of his outfit was either charred or burned away, and he had removed the scarves covering his head, revealing thick reptilian scales covering his face, and a mouth lined with yellow teeth filed to a point. His crimson eyes bore down on Batman with a terrifying bloodlust.

"I _will_ have your powers, Batman," he hissed, "I _will_ rule the night! The Penguin man said I could, and all I have to do is consume your flesh!"

Jones raised his fists high up into the air, but Batman took the opportunity to roll out of the way as they slammed into the place where he had been but moments before. Rolling back onto his feet, he faced the monstrous being that roared in frustration and lunged at him with clawed, outstretched hands. Batman sidestepped him and landed a jab into his stomach, followed swiftly by an elbow jab into the spine, putting Jones down again. Turning around, Batman peered to relocate Cobblepot—but to his great anger found that he was gone. But it wouldn't be the case for long; all he had to do was summon the Batwing and the chase would continue in the air…

Suddenly, a sound like thunder ripped through the air, deafening him, and in a wave of heat and light, Batman found himself flying through the air. In a brief moment, he saw Jones' body spiraling in empty space as well, before he hit the stone hard surface of the ocean. Temporarily stunned, he soon regained control of his body and burst towards the surface to grab a gulp of air—only to be dragged back down again into the cold dark depths of the sea. He saw moonlight and firelight ripple above him as he sank further, becoming more and more distant. His heart becoming chilled by the prospect of death and the sparse amount of air in his lungs becoming staler by the second, he looked down to see what was pulling him. There, wrapped around his leg and hooked onto his boot was a thick heavy chain attached to a very large metal crate that descended into the water below. He tried to shake it off, but the chain was secured too tightly. He would've reached down to dislodge it, or at least reached into his utility belt to grab the oxygen mask to give him some time, but the speed at which he was sinking prevented him from doing so. As the blackness became greater before him and the light above grew smaller, he desperately kicked and struggled to break free, but it was no use. Eventually, his lungs forced the air out of him, and water entered to take its place, choking him.

The world around him became swallowed up in the gloom, and his head started to spin. Was this how it was supposed to end? Was this to be his fate? Was all his hard work at cleansing the city a waste, now that he was about to be snuffed out like a light? But as feeling fled from his body and his mind started to ebb away, he was left with at least one comforting thought...

Mother, Father, he thought, I'm coming to see you again.

And with that, darkness overtook him, and he welcomed it, along with the freedom from the years of pain and despair that had defined him for so long…he felt the weight being removed, and he felt himself rise. Was this dying? He thought. No, something, or someone was pulling him upwards. But then he could think no more…

* * *

After what seemed like forever, he felt something push against his chest again and again, until at last the water in his lungs was expelled, allowing air to come through and burn his throat. He gasped at the air entering his lungs, and slowly began to feel the cold of his own body…as well as the soft, smooth hand that stroked the side of his face…a few moments later, he heard something splash into the water…

* * *

He struggled to blink his eyes open for a few minutes, but when he did, Batman found himself looking up at the sky, now brushed with the pale colors of early dawn. With no small amount of anguish and effort, he pulled himself into an upright position, and found himself sitting on the beach of all places, soaked to the bone. Across from him, he could see Coast Guard helicopters and firefighter crews surrounding the cargo ship, which glowed with the fires of the explosion…almost a mile away.

For once in his life, the Dark Knight was baffled. How in the world had he not drowned? How had he wound up all the way on this shoreline? There was no answer, no possible explanation that he could think of…

Then he noticed something in his hand. Holding it up, he found that he was clutching a small clamshell, a capital A scratched into its surface. It wasn't much of a clue to what happened, but at least it was one.

Then he remembered: Cobblepot was still on the loose, as was Jones. Whatever happened to him here could wait to be explained. He had bigger fish to fry at the moment, and had to get back to the Batcave first.

* * *

What Batman didn't realize at that moment was that he was being watched. Hiding behind an outcrop of rock, his rescuer gazed as he groggily stood back up onto his feet, dripping with seawater, and seemed to press something on that fascinating golden belt around his waist. A few minutes later, she ducked into the water as a huge flying metal creature flew overhead and hovered over the beach, blowing up sand and dust into the air. The armored human clambered his way inside the mouth of the creature as its glass and metal jaws opened up to welcome him inside, closed over him, and then rose back into the sky, flying towards the boxish towers of the city.

She felt proud of herself for having saved yet another soul, and yet she felt an old itch rising up, an itch that she hadn't felt for a very long time—at least, not in this manner, anyway. Her curiosity about the armored human was aroused like never before. She didn't know when, and she certainly didn't know exactly how, but she knew that she had to find out more about him. The questions she could ask, the answers she could glean, it was almost too good to resist…if only it weren't for the fact that she needed to be home again. But she promised herself that somehow she would return to this place, and find that masked man again.

And with a flick of her tail, she dove back down under the waves again. With a flash of light, she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

In the ocean world beyond the Palace of the Sea King, the light that filtered down through the shifting waves grew dimmer as the sun began to set in the far off distance, and with its vanishing the sea grew darker and darker, forcing the inhabitants of the waters surrounding the Palace to take refuge within their respective homes. Here, they were safe from the teeth and jaws of the sharks and sea dragons that prowled in the shadows. It was far from irregular for many merfolk to use the brief hours of twilight to tell each other stories; mostly these stories consisted of what things the children had done or of what creatures had been seen during the passing day, but when it was important the elders told the legend of how their people had once dwelled on the shores above and walked like the landfolk, until marauders had forced them to escape into the sea, where they cast an enchantment upon themselves to dwell forever within the depths, never to return to the strange place called land, along with the usual fare of monster-slayers, explorers, and warriors.

Ariel's sisters had heard these myths plenty of times, and while they were indeed educational, they had become rather boring as well. This was part of the reason why, very recently, they started coming to her for stories, and the ones she came up with were very unusual, which only added to their appeal. They sat around her kelp-nest, and as was the norm, Ariel felt the pressure emanating from the gaze of six pairs of eyes as she spun her tale, their hair waving with the current that flowed through the windows. Tonight, she told a story of fire-shooting demons, led by a smoke-spewing penguin creature, who had taken boxes full of treasure and hid them inside of a huge ship—a sunken ship, she was quick to point out.

"And_ that's_ when _he_ showed up," she started, anticipating the good part.

"Who?" Alana asked, her eyes widening as she combed the bits and pieces of sea debris out of Aquata's brown hair, "Who showed up?"

"The _Manta Man_," Ariel said, spreading her fingers and waving her hands to emphasize the drama, "who had skin black as night and as hard as a lobster shell, horns on the top of his head, and HUGE wings that he soared through the…water with. He arrived on the ship without any of them noticing, and he beat them all to a pulp, one by one, before any of them could even notice."

"All by himself?" Andrina, always the skeptical one, questioned. "That sounds unlikely."

"Well, he DID," Ariel replied, "He was THAT amazing, _and _he used magic, too; he could turn invisible, and make clouds appear out of the floor."

"Then what did he do?" Arista asked, eager to learn more, "What happened next?"

"Then he went straight inside the ship, and chased the Smoke-breathing Penguin right out of there," Ariel explained, "But then a huge Crocodile monster came and tried to beat him up, because he wanted to eat him! And at first it looked like the crocodile monster was going to win, but the Manta Man was all like, POW! Wham!" and illustrated the action by throwing her fists around in the water. "And then, to end the fight, KABOOM!" Her sisters jumped at the imaginary effect. "He blew the ship up!"

"Why did he do that?" Adella wondered, cocking her head at an angle, "Wasn't he trying to get the treasure?"

"Well," Ariel said, pausing for a moment to come up with a good reason, "The treasure was cursed, and he didn't want anyone falling under its spell. So he blew the ship up, and then he…" she paused again for a moment to fill in a blank that, truth be told, wasn't really a blank, "flew—I mean, swam away into the night, upon his giant black crab!"

"A giant black crab?" Andrina asked, incredulously.

"It was an _enchanted_ giant black crab," Ariel pointed out.

"But what happened to the Penguin and the Crocodile Monster?" Andrina asked.

"Oh, they got away," Ariel summed up, "Swam away like little guppies. But they knew not to mess with the Manta Man ever again!" and then she concluded, "The End!"

Her sisters clapped their hands at the conclusion of the story, and the younger of them gave out quiet cheers as Ariel bowed in appreciation, saying, "Thank you, thank you!"

"Wait a moment," Andrina questioned, "Was that it? He just blew up the ship and left?"

"Yep, pretty much."

"Well then, if he could use magic, then why didn't he turn them all into jellyfish? Heck, why didn't he just magic the treasure away instead of blowing up the whole ship?"

"Well, he wasn't _that _great of a sorcerer," Ariel replied defiantly, "but he didn't need to be."

"But what about…?" Andrina went on, but the other sisters rose to Ariel's defense, which turned into a great amount of bickering amongst them. It wasn't until Aquata, the oldest amongst them, shushed them down with reminders of what would happen if their father caught them up and awake so late. With that, they quickly said their goodnights and swam to their respective nests. Attina, however, stayed behind for a brief moment.

"Well,_ I_ liked your story, Ariel," she whispered, "You make it sound like you were really there!"

"Yeah, well," Adella responded, "It wasn't as good as the one about the island full of flightless dragons."

Ariel shrugged and smiled, saying, "Well, they can't all be the same. G'night!"

With that, all six mermaids curled up on their nests, and with the passing of time, the darkness increased, save for the moonlight piercing through the window. Each of them lay fast asleep, lost within the fantastical realms of their own dreams…

All except for Ariel; she only pretended to sleep, but her mind was too active to let her do so, not to mention that she had other plans. For now, she laid quiet, waiting for the time when she could make her move without anyone noticing.

Internally, she debated whether or not it would have been wise, after all this time, to share the truth with her sisters: that truth being that each and every one of her stories was really a firsthand account of what she had seen in person, with bits of fiction thrown in now and then to make up for what she herself didn't know. Would they believe her? And if they did, would they approve of her sneaking out every night to see what she saw? Would they understand and keep her secret? Or would they tell their father, whose loathing of humans was all too well known, about her escapades?

She decided against such an action; it carried too much risk. Besides, she had plenty of fun on her own, anyway.

Hours passed, and though she had done this sort of thing innumerable times before, Ariel began to grow impatient. Her thoughts drew her back to that enigmatic Manta Man that she had saved, before; what was it about him that excited her curiosity? She had saved plenty of humans from drowning (it had become her little trademark), but what made the Manta Man any different? Granted, it was very strange for anyone to dress up like an enormous manta ray (at least, that was the closest thing she could think of to describe it) and beat other humans up, but surely that couldn't be it. Maybe it was the mask, and the face that it surely must have hid underneath it. Who was this person, and why was it that he felt the need to hide his face from the rest of the world? Was it because of some hideous deformity? Who could say for certain? Perhaps she could, if she managed to meet him again…

She knew one thing at the very least; she had forgotten to grab a souvenir while she was there.

Feeling her patience wear off, she lifted her head, pulling her red hair out of the way, to check her surroundings. To her relief, her sisters were all fast asleep, hardly stirring. It was time for her to move; as stealthily as she could, she grabbed her purse and swam through the door, careful not to let the flip of her fins stir any water currents towards her slumbering siblings.

She was grateful to find her way was unhindered by the presence of guards along the trail; they were there, true, but she did manage to slip away outside of the palace, ducking and weaving around pillars and such, and into the open waters beyond. That had been the easy part, relatively speaking; now came the harder, and more dangerous, part of her journey. Here, as she glided over coral reefs and beds of seaweed, all bathed in a pale blue light, she drew her knife of bone and shark teeth out of her bag, wary of any hungry predator whose open jaws or probing tentacle might target her as a late night snack, in spite of the fact that her way was largely empty of life.

Knowing the way like the back of her hand, she came across an outcrop of rock where, beneath a ledge overgrown with corals, weeds, and sponges, a large slab of stone sat undisturbed. After looking around to make sure she hadn't been followed, she pulled it aside, revealing the entrance to a small cave, and slipped inside, letting the slab fall back into place with a thud.

She swam through a dark tunnel, until at last she came into a grotto that stretched far upwards; every inch of available space was filled with pieces of what anyone else might have assumed junk or trash, but to her were prized treasures that she had added to her vast collection of things that she had plucked from sunken ships and lost chests. All of it was illuminated by a beam of moonlight that shone through a small opening high at the top. She didn't even have names for half of the stuff that could be found here, but to her it was worth so much more than most merfolk could imagine, especially with some of the more recent things that she had acquired. Not even the seagull she conversed with could think of an explanation for the tiny black box of glass and another bizarre material that every now and then lit up and made odd ringing noises, for example (hence, she had long ago stopped coming to him for answers).

But at the moment, she wasn't here to ogle over her hoard of human items, or to theorize over what they could do. There was one thing that she had come for. She floated along the shelves, scanning for her target, until at last she found it, right next to the pair of brightly colored foot gloves; a bracelet made of black metal, engraved with dark symbols upon its surface. She plucked it from its perch, and held it carefully, wary of its power. She remembered vividly the day she had acquired it from the Sea Witch Ursula; although she was aware of the shadowy powers that the witch held, Ariel had overcome her fear of the enormous creature to ask it for a way to step onto land. Quite eagerly, the cecaelia provided her the bracelet, but with the condition that Ariel do one favor for her, a favor that she would ask of her at any time she pleased…

She wondered nervously what that favor could be at times, but that had been a long time ago. Perhaps the Sea-Witch had forgotten about her entirely. Anxiety rippled through her more powerfully when she remembered what happened the first time she had put the bracelet on…

Don't think about it too much, she told herself, it will be worth it in the end.

She placed the bracelet into her bag, and from it withdrew yet another prized item from among the knives and charms that she carried with her; this time, it was a crystal, large enough to fit in the palm of her hand, which lit up the grotto with a burst of white light, like pure starlight in the black of the sky. In its facets, Ariel could see not just her own reflection, but visions of things that she had once thought of as impossible, but experience had taught her otherwise; humans flying around in bird-shaped machines, tall blue creatures striding through colossal forests, and even mice the size of small children that sang and danced…

She also remembered vividly the time she had found this crystal, having found it in a chest full of other such crystals, and then found herself whisked away to a strange place that she didn't have words for. Fortunately for her, she figured out how the crystal had worked, and by merely thinking of Atlantica had returned home again—only for her to use the crystal to visit countless other places time and time again, each time returning with some new souvenir to add to her collection, as well as disguised accounts of her adventures to tell her sisters. How many new worlds had she been to? She didn't know for certain (as if she had bothered to count!), but what should have satisfied a longing to visit someplace other than home instead exaggerated it, given how many possibilities had opened up to her…except for the fact that rarely had she been able to move freely through the new world, rather than observe from afar.

But not this time.

She clutched the gem in her hand tightly, and concentrated on the memory of that shoreline filled with towering square buildings that glittered in the dark of night, the harbor filled with ships of metal that belched steam, and most of all, of the Manta Man. She focused only on that image in her head, letting it drown out all other thoughts...

Then, she felt the world change. Opening her eyes, she saw the Grotto dissolve away into a bright shower of flashing pieces of glass that whirled and spun around her faster and faster, until she lost track of where everything was and of where she was…

Then, the whirlpool of glass faded away, and she found herself in darkness again…except the water this time had a different, pungent taste to it, whereas it had once been fresh and clean. She looked around, and found the place around her was empty of life, save for a few scraggly fish that floated on dumbly.

Was this it? Wanting to confirm her desires, she placed the gem back in the back and swam upwards towards the surface, towards the light of the moon rippling up above. Bursting through, she took a deep breath of air, removed a lock of drenched hair from her face, and looked around. To her great joy, she saw the huge black towers in the distance, shining with their multicolored lights that distinguished them from the dark of the sky, and heard the loud, trumpet-like blaring. This had to be the place where the Manta Man lived. It just had to be.

To the east, she saw the waves lapping against the sand of the beach. Diving back under the water, she swam as hard as she could, right up to where the water grew more and more shallow. It was then that she found her upper half fully exposed to the cold night air, though part of her emerald tail remained submerged in the water. Flipping herself around, she laid back and looked up at the black sky above, sparse stars twinkling desperately in the dark desert up above.

Ok, she said to herself, now it's time. She pulled herself upright, and from her bag she extracted the bracelet. Knowing what would happen next she braced herself, breathed in deeply, and clasped it onto her arm.

Not even the knowledge of it, however, could prepare her for what happened next; she felt a shock rip through the very fiber of her being. She keeled over and writhed in pain, a scream erupting in the agony; she felt as though a sword was being run through her, and splitting her right down the middle. On top of that, she could feel the very bones in her body shift and change shape, twisting and pulling on her innards in the process. The excruciating torture caused her to spasm uncontrollably, driving out any and all thought that had nothing to do with the horrible situation. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than for the cruel pain to be over, even if it meant losing her life in the process…

And then, after what seemed like eternity, it slowly faded away, leaving her gasping for breath. A wave of seawater washed over her, and she almost choked on it, spitting out the brine from her mouth. She couldn't breathe it anymore…With a trembling hand, she reached for and slid her fingers across her neck; where there had once been gill slits along the sides of her throat, now there was only bare skin. She also noticed more finite things as well; her bones had become lighter than they had been before, and the fins on her upper arms had disappeared as well.

Her arm fell back onto the sand again. For now, she concentrated on breathing, too weak to move, too exhausted to see if she had gotten what she asked for.

Hours passed, and she watched with tired eyes as the sky began to change color from a dark, almost black, blue, into a lighter shade with the coming of the sun.

Then, she heard something tramping along the ground. What was that? It came closer, and she heard panting and huffing accompany it. Was it feet that she had been hearing? The panting ceased for a moment, as did the footsteps; voices replaced them, tinted with curiosity and concern, which was replaced with fear and panic. The footsteps started up again, coming closer and closer, until they were practically right on top of her. A man's head, with short brown hair, a long nose, and dark eyes, suddenly came over her, covered in beads of sweat and flushed with red, and bright with panic.

"Hey, hey kid!" he said, "Are you alright?"

She nodded, though weakly.

The man was joined by a woman with short blond hair who wore sunglasses over her eyes and a band of cloth around her head. "Thank goodness," she said, "She's still alive!" C'mon Chuck, help her up!"

'Chuck' then reached under Ariel and lifted her up into the air, allowing her to struggle onto her feet…_her feet_. She looked down and was filled with no small amount of excitement at the sight of long, shapely legs where her tail had been before.

"Oh, you poor thing!" the woman said, "Must've lost your bikini bottom in the surf!" She then took off her jacket and wrapped it around Ariel's waist, tying the sleeves of it securely. "You're lucky we were running out here, you know! Now, do you have a name, a home or some place to stay?"

Ariel opened her mouth to answer the kind woman, but no sound came out. At first she was confused, but then she remembered the caveat that came with the deal, and cursed inside for forgetting it; as long as she had the bracelet on, her voice was lost to her.

"Poor kid's a mute," Chuck discerned. "Don't worry, Sheila and I will take care of you; our car's not too far away. You think you can make it?"

Ariel nodded, her desire to try out her legs again overpowering her need to avoid pain. At first, each step was agonizing, but over time the pain faded away as they made their way across the sand of the beach. So far so good, she mused.

And then they came across a patch of ground covered in hardened tar. That was another ordeal entirely, though not quite as painful. At least it was warm.

At long last, Sheila and Chuck guided her to their 'car' a strange white machine borne upon four black wheels. Given the chance, Ariel might have investigated the car more fully, but for now allowed the two humans to open the doors and have her sit down on a seat covered in beige-colored leather, strapping her in with a pair of attached belts that came down from the ceiling and the side. The two humans entered the car as well, and after a few moments the machine purred to life, and began to move, to Ariel's great astonishment. There was hardly a word exchanged between her two saviors, along the way, but Ariel breathed contently, knowing that, at least for now, she was another step closer to meeting the Manta Man.


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce Wayne had spent years being taught how to endure pain and lethal torture through several different mentors during his years as a wandering vagrant, and yet for some reason none of his teachers had ever taught the technique of being able to resist the urge to fall asleep during a meeting with the board of directors. Strictly speaking, he didn't really need to be here, since Lucius Fox handled the majority of the business transactions, but he often felt the need to be there in case there was a particularly important decision to be made. This wasn't quite one of them; they spent a good majority of the time in the brightly lit boardroom, sitting around a round wooden table like Arthur's knights of old (except noticeably without the gallant nobility) discussing how a local company, Gothcorp, had apparently been spending thousands in research on cryogenics. Their representatives, a somewhat seedy looking group of men, had come to Wayne Enterprises seeking to sell some of their shares in order to compensate for lost funds. Many on the board were eager to attain said shares, but there was a rather troubling, though minor, concern about some of Gothcorp's legal legitimacies. The meeting went on for two hours with no end of in-seat shuffling and twisting of neckties, but ended in a stalemate when Fox called to postpone the matter until further notice, and dismissed the board. At this moment, Bruce was reminded of how much sweeter the reward tasted after the trial and tribulation. Here was the part he had been waiting for; now he could speak with Fox about some topics closer to home.

As the directors and shareholders shuffled their way out of the room, Bruce made his way towards Fox at the opposite end of the table; Fox's brown, calloused hands were busy shuffling some papers into a manila folder when the old man looked up at him with those bright, knowing eyes. When everyone else had vacated the premises, Fox spoke, saying, "You know, when I was a kid, I would never have imagined myself talking about freezing people like it was an everyday occurrence. Maybe after this, that might be a possibility."

"I'm not too sure about that, to be honest," Bruce replied, "If Gothcorp's so eager to sell off the division it can't be worth the trouble."

"I'd recommend taking a closer look at their books to see if it is," Fox said. "By the way, I heard about that whole Cobblepot thing three weeks ago; how did the new toy fly?"

"Like a dream," Bruce answered.

"If there's any fix-ups needed, just let me know," Fox said, "I've been meaning to update the autopilot for some time."

"Actually, Lucius, I've been meaning to ask you about something; I did some scuba diving recently, but it didn't turn out so well."

"I would probably recommend extra swimming lessons, Mister Wayne."

Bruce laughed softly, and then replied "I just need some new equipment, in case I need to take a long dive on a short notice."

"I didn't know tuna could get involved in criminal activities."

"Tunas, no, but penguins and crocodiles, maybe," Bruce joked.

"Penguins and crocodiles?" Fox asked, looking slightly confused and cocking his head at an angle.

"I'll tell you about it later," Bruce smiled.

"No need," Fox smiled back, "I may have something in the basement; I'll have to check back with you later."

With that, Bruce gave him his thanks, Fox requested that he say hello to Alfred for him, and the two parted ways. It was a bit of an in-joke between them for them to act as though the thing that Bruce requested from his number-one armorer as something the average party-boy would ask for on a whim.

Making his way out of the boardroom, Bruce took a way to look out the long line of windows overlooking the sprawling city; in the daylight, many of the buildings shone brightly as they reflected the light of the sun. From up here, the city seemed clean and peaceful, though busy as the people and cars far below Wayne Tower scuttled about their business. A sense of beauty lay about the scene…but Bruce for a fact that it was all a façade; to know the city firsthand required one to take a closer look, one that many would probably be better off not taking.

For a moment, Bruce envied the man or woman who lived in ignorance of the things he had come to know. Perhaps they were happier that way.

* * *

Ariel counted herself blessed to have found refuge with Chuck and Sheila. Upon arriving at the tower where their chambers were, they allowed her to have a taste of some of this world's marvels; she felt the skin of her human body soothed and cleansed, rather than burned, by the heated water that magically burst out of a spout in the side of a wall in their 'bathroom', as well as by the potions and elixirs they kept in brightly colored bottles that she lathered through her hair; the two humans offered her multicolored clothing of theirs to cover her nakedness that, despite the bizarre fabric they were made of, felt excellently soft and luxurious, surely made for kings (though personally she couldn't imagine a king of any kingdom wearing a purple single-piece shirt and a pair of trousers made of what she could have sworn to be blue sailcloth); and she also witnessed the magical white boxes that either stored cold food or produced hot food that almost overwhelmed her inexperienced tongue, especially the strange substance they called 'buttered toast', and the chilled white liquid called 'milk'. Such delicacies had never been made available in Atlantica; she made a mental note to somehow get her father to try one of these foods sometime, maybe by sneaking some back home in her bag.

As soon as she had a moment, Chuck and Sheila sat down at the table, looking as worried and concerned as before, though relieved to see her in a healthy state. Though her sense of smell had noticeably been reduced, Ariel could smell a strong stench in the air coming from the two, and began to wonder if all humans smelled like that. Maybe that was why they had all those potions in the bathroom...

"Alright honey," Sheila started, "I realize that you can't speak, so I'll just ask you to nod for a yes, and shake your head for a no. I'll try to keep the questions as simple as possible. Is that alright?"

Ariel nodded.

"Okay, then. Now, do you have any friends or family here in Gotham?"

At first, Ariel considered finding a way to communicate 'Manta Man' to her, but her lack of a voice gave her a moment to deliberate the matter; she thought of how terrified the men aboard the metal ship were when the black figure had attacked them. True, they had been right to be so, but how was she to know how ordinary humans would act? She shook her head.

The look of concern grew stronger on Sheila's face. "Alright, is there a number that we can call to let your family know you're fine?"

Ariel shook her head; there was no way she'd be able to contact her family all the way back in Atlantica, and how in the world would a number do that in the first place?

"So, you're from outta town?" Chuck asked. At this, Ariel nodded, suspecting that it was the most honest gesture that she could give.

"Do you have a place to stay?" Sheila asked.

Now this was an interesting question, and one that, if handled right, could work to her advantage: there had to be some place in this city where she could start searching for the Manta Man. But where would that be? At that moment, Ariel realized how big the kelp patch that she had to find the needlefish in was.

Then she remembered all the humans on the boats that flashed red and blue the night the boat had exploded; they had been there to round up the humans on the boat who had attacked the Manta Man. Perhaps they were some sort of royal guard, she deduced. Perhaps they had been working with the Manta Man; would they know where he was? In that case, she had to find where their base was. She nodded her head, but before she could request a map (somehow), Chuck stood up and said, "Great, I'll call you a cab."

Was that supposed to be an insult? What was a cab supposed to be, anyway?

About an hour later, Ariel found out; it was another car, this one yellow with black and white square markings all over it, that parked in front of the entrance to the tall tower they called an 'apartment'. Before she left, the two humans gave her one final gift in the form of a stack of strange green sheets of paper that they called 'money'. She knew very well what money was, but wondered how in the world these sheets of paper were of value to anyone, as opposed to gold or silver. But she politely accepted the green paper, tried to express gratitude the best she could and waved goodbye, and stepped inside the yellow car. As opposed to Chuck and Sheila's car, this one had a funny smell ingrained into the fuzzy brown seats inside. The driver, a dark skinned man with wild curly hair and a thick beard, asked in a gruff voice, "Alright, where can I take ya?"

At first, Ariel didn't know how she could communicate where she wanted to go, but then she noticed a folded stack of paper in a pocket on the back of the driver's seat, and pulled it out. She discovered, to her relief, that it was a map of the entire city; from what she could tell, a good portion of Gotham was situated on a crescent-shaped island, separated from the mainland by a large river. Well then, if there was some sort of law-enforcement group, then they had to be situated in the dead center of the island. She showed the driver the map and pointed to the approximate place that she wanted to go, supposing that she would be able to find the Guards there.

"Town Center?" the driver asked, "Not a lot of hotels near there…whatever. Buckle up."

And with that, they were off; almost immediately Ariel's attention was drawn to the window as the scenery scrolled on by, gazing in awe at all the buildings, trees, signs, and people that they passed. While she did see a few birds flying by and a couple of dogs on leashes, she did feel a bit saddened not to see any more animal or plant life; was the entire world like this? Her thoughts were distracted, however, as the towers steadily increased in height and size; there simply wasn't enough space in the cab to see it all.

About half an hour later, they arrived at a place where the towers rose higher than ever, almost blocking out the sky with their mass, and where people of all shapes, sizes, and colors ran around en masse like a school of tropical fish, but far noisier. The streets themselves were filled with cars of even more diversity, which slowed progress down significantly. But Ariel didn't mind, her eyes feasting on all that went by. Before she knew it, however, they had parked in front of a large tower of stone and glass, and with that, Ariel handed the driver some slips of the green papers, placed the rest in her bag (she sighed in relief at the discovery that nothing had been taken, especially the glowing gem), and stepped out, waving goodbye as the cab drove away.

Okay, she told herself, now I just have to find the place where the armed guards meet and…

But then she looked around at her surroundings, and realized how much more there was to discover.

The Manta Man could wait, she decided.

* * *

By the time the sky above the towers grew dark, Ariel found herself sitting on a bench across from a store filled with talking boxes by the street, her new feet already sore, her legs crying out for relief, and her body covered in droplets of salty water from the heat of the day. But she smiled, all the same; she had seen so much in the span of so little time, and the bag full of trinkets and souvenirs she had obtained with the green slips was proof of that. Having found a marketplace called 'the mall', she nearly went mad with glee as she ran through the stores and touched all the fabrics, flipped through as many books as she could find (mostly to look at the pictures; the words were alien to her, though she might have understood them if someone read them to her), and punched as many buttons as she could press. She even managed to try out some new foods, her favorite being the triangular slice of bread covered in crushed tomatoes, melted cheese and meat that they called 'pizza'…

Yes, she had certainly had her fill, and the green slips had come in quite useful. But now she needed a moment to recuperate, and go over her plan again now that she had her day of fun. Now she had to find the Manta Man and find out more about him, but before she could do that, she had to find the place where the armed guards gathered. After that, she would find the water, take off that accursed bracelet, and return home—hopefully hardly any time would have passed by back in Atlantica. It rarely did, and she found it strange how she could spend days in one world and find that only a few seconds had gone by in hers. She had little to fear from that…but now that the shadows began to grow longer and longer, she did feel a bit more anxious. But soon that anxiety was replaced by wonder as the city began to fight back the ensuing darkness with bright lights of its own; having seen them from afar, Ariel could now enjoy them in all their multi-colored glory as they made the streets just as, if not more so, visibly as the sun. She pondered what sort of magic it took to accomplish such a feat…

"HIYA, REDD!" a voice shouted out from behind. Silently gasping, Ariel turned around to look behind her, only to meet a young woman with wide blue eyes and wearing a red beret that hid her hair staring right back at her. "WHEN DID YOU GET OUTTA—oh sorry kid, I thought you was someone I knew. Hey, you mind if I sit next to ya?"

At least it wasn't a sea dragon. Still recovering from the shock, Ariel timidly shook her head, and the other woman leapt over the back of the bench and landed right next to her. She wore a short skirt also made out of blue sail-cloth, a white sleeve-less shirt with an enormous red heart symbol on the chest, and carried a leather purse. Her lips were painted black.

"So," the woman said, "It looks like ya had yourself a heckuva shoppin' spree, huh? Where ya off to next? The club, the bar, the football game?"

Ariel didn't have a clue what any of those were supposed to be, so she shook her head no again.

The woman cocked her head to the side. "You don't talk much, do ya, kid?" she said, then shrugged happily and said, "That's okay, I don't mind! Let me guess…oh! Are you waiting for someone? A boyfriend, maybe, huh?" But before Ariel could answer, the woman leaned back dramatically, threw her arm over her eyes and sighed, "It's like ya waitin' for ya true love to come ridin' on a big white horse and sweep ya off ya feet! How romantic…Ya know, it's funny, I've been waitin' for someone too! Or at least I was…"

Ariel cocked her head to the side to show interest.

"Yeah, true story! A real Bonnie and Clyde, we were. But sadly, society tore us apart, and I had to go my way, to find someone new…of course my man's gotten out before, but this time they said that he's locked up forever. Oh, my poor Romeo! All cold and alone!" she sobbed, and buried her face in her hands. Feeling somewhat sorry for her, Ariel patted her back gently—only for the other woman to suddenly leap back upright again with startling speed. "I just gotta tell ya one thing, okay? Whoever your man is, make sure he doesn't do anything crazy with his life, because otherwise, you could end up just like me; pining away, wondering how in the heck this poor little girl's gonna move on with her life without her Mistah..."

Just then, the talking boxes called 'televisions' behind them grew louder, and people began to crowd around them. Ariel and the other woman turned around to see what was on; on the screen was a woman against a blue background, who, despite being dressed up quite nicely and carried about a calm demeanor, seemed obviously worried.

"This is Vicki Vale, reporting for Gotham City News Channel Six," the woman on the screen said urgently, "We have just gotten reports that mass-murderer and terrorist known as 'The Joker' has escaped from Arkham Asylum yet again. Citizens are urged to use caution, and to report any suspicious activity…"

Ariel then took a moment to look back at her brief acquaintance; the woman's eyes had grown wide, and her jaw dropped at the news flash—but was it out of fear?

"He broke out…" the woman whispered, her voice trembling softly, and then after a two second pause, "AND HE DIDN'T BOTHER TO CALL ME?!"

Rage seemed to consume the woman. She then ripped away the beret on her head, letting loose long, wild hair that was dyed black on one side and a crimson red on the other, with bits of blonde at the roots. Storming off the bench, she headed towards a man on a motorbike, and from her purse pulled out a sleek metal-looking object that had a tube on top of a handle. Ariel didn't have enough time to wonder what the thing was before the woman pointed it at the man, and BANG! The man fell down onto the ground, screaming in pain and clutching at his shoulder, where a dark hole oozed with blood, while all around them people began to shout and scatter. Ariel herself just stayed in her place, holding her hands over her ears in response to the loud noise, as the woman climbed onto the bike and revved it up.

At that moment, the woman looked back at Ariel and smiled cheerfully, saying, "Nice talkin' to ya, Not-Red! See ya!" She then drove off into the distance, the screeching of the tires against the asphalt ripping through the air as she sped away.

While the people around her ran around in a panic, the random chaos spawning more random chaos, Ariel just sat there in her spot, paralyzed by her fear. Silently, she prayed that she wouldn't run into any more humans like that any time soon.


	4. Chapter 4

James Gordon always held a certain amount of resentment towards the establishment known as Arkham Asylum, a resentment that was only amplified as he, flanked by detectives Renee Montoya and Crispus Allen, walked down the sickly beige halls lit with fluorescent lights that made the place feel appropriately sterile. He normally would have passed on allowing the smell of the place to enter his nostrils; the only reason he was here at all, rather than back at the office, was because this case deserved special attention. One of the senior security officers led them through a maze lined with steel doors, which took about half an hour to get through; behind each and every one of the tightly armed barriers, he could hear muffled ravings, screams, and cackles, joined together in a disjointed chorus as he looked over some of the stills from the security footage. Looking to his right, he saw Montoya's chocolate brown eyes dart back and forth from one door to another, disgust curling her lip and crinkling her nose. He knew why; in some of those cries, falsehood was blatantly obvious.

"This is sick," she quietly said, "Last time I checked, asylums are places to be healed, but half of these people are just biding their time before they can break out again. What's the official policy, anyway? If you get caught robbing a house while wearing a Halloween costume, you get sent here?"

Gordon didn't blame her at all; she was one of the newer members of the Major Crimes Unit, having been promoted only a week ago, and her voice, though inflected with a slight Hispanic trill dulled by years of exposure to foreign voices, reflected his own opinions.

"If you ask me," Allen replied in his deep, roughly hewn voice, "Half of these should have been locked up in BlackGate years ago." That sentence highlighted a quality that Gordon admired about the tall, bearded African-American, on top of being a recent transfer from Gordon's old hometown of Chicago; at the very least, it proved that Allen, unlike some people Gordon knew, had a stable head on his shoulders.

"But this isn't fair!" Montoya said, "What about the people who need to be here, the ones with the real problems, the people who need fixing? Why do they have to be thrown in with the criminals? This is supposed to be a shelter, not a prison."

"It stopped being a shelter a long time ago," Gordon replied, "Trust me."

The guard led them to a particularly thick door that stood slightly ajar, a line of bright yellow police tape surrounding it. The guard stepped aside, and waved his hand to allow them access before he followed inside. Pulling the tape out of their way, the four of them stepped through the doorway, and entered not a padded cell, but a dark room with several display monitors, the words "Ha ha" written in blood all over them and covering up the video footage. A control board filled with numerous keys, buttons, and switches stood in front of the corpses of two security guards slouching and dangling out of their seats, bloody smiles carved into their faces. Across from them was a broad window overlooking a huge four-walled chamber of solid concrete; in the center stood a hydraulic steel pedestal thirteen feet thick that held a large grey box with a single open door, big enough for a man to fit inside, about twenty feet in the air. Surrounding the pedestal was a ring of black metal poles measuring seven feet high; they would have made a formidable invisible fence had they been turned on, and the person meant to keep inside was still there. High above were automated turrets hanging from the ceiling, armed with, Gordon was told, fast-acting tranquilizer darts.

Once they got past the mutilated carcasses and the bloody decorations, Montoya and Allen looked at the scene through the window, impressed in a wide range of ways. "Looks like someone got the special treatment," Montoya remarked, "But isn't this just a little bit overkill?"

"Given how much trouble the Joker is," the head guard replied, "he deserved it; you're looking at several million dollars in the latest security equipment from Wayne Tech, specially designed to keep the clown in. Aside from what you see in front of you, we had our guards switched out every hour, and the passcode to enter was changed and randomized every half hour, not to mention every person looking to visit had to get special permission from up high for a visit at fifteen minutes max."

Gordon thanked him as he looked over the gruesome sight of the mutilated bodies. "Could you give us a moment, please?" he asked. The guard nodded and stepped his way out of the control room, leaving the three investigators alone.

"Well then," Allen remarked after going over the details, "By all accounts, the Joker should never have gotten out."

"And yet he did," a heavy voice growled from behind. While Gordon had become accustomed to this, Allen, Montoya, and the head guard spun around in surprise to see Batman step out of an unlit part of the room, the white of his eyes glinting out from within the devil-horned mask. While Montoya's eyes had grown wide and her mouth visibly hung open, Allen's eyes were instead narrowed as they bore down on the masked man. Batman went on, "Who was the latest person scheduled to come in here?"

"A Dr. Merida Champlain," Gordon replied, "We initially thought it was her, but our boys found her corpse several floors up, and the time of death was long before this happened."

The Batman then extracted a flashlight from his golden utility belt, and turned it on, a violet light illuminating and revealing faded footprints speckled with dirt, debris, and blood drops; most of them came from the shoes of the two security guards, but several bare footprints tramped across them, pausing and shuffling around between the bodies before heading right for the way out again. Beneath that, they could see a trail of high-heeled prints leading from the door into the control room and towards the entrance into the cell. But there was no trail of them leading in the reverse direction.

"At least now we know what gender to look for," Montoya remarked, "Maybe we can find the shoe that fits".

Apparently noticing something the others didn't, Batman then bent down, produced a Q-tip and a small jar, and dabbed up some dust from the footprint. Gordon, meanwhile, moved towards the monitors showing the live feed. Looking past the blood, he saw that one of them showed the padded interior of the box the Joker had been holed up in; all there was to indicate the presence of human life was an abandoned straight jacket.

"Given all the enemies he's made, who in the world would want to let out the Joker of all people?" Montoya wondered aloud as she observed the Batman, "And why only the Joker? Isn't there like a million less dangerous criminals in this place that would have been easier to break out?"

He looked down at the panel, grabbed the mouse, and on the computer screen he rewound the recording to the time of the escape. One window showed the guards sitting content, not a care in the world, while another window, looking from the inside of the cube, showed a man in a straightjacket curled up in the corner, his face turned away but wild, stringy hair visible. A third window looked at the entryway to the control room, and a fourth showed the entirety of the cell. Nothing seemed to happen for five seconds…and then suddenly, the cell was empty save for the straightjacket, and the two guards were choking on their own blood, while a pair of legs in orange pants fled off screen, accompanied by loud, wheezing laughter that swiftly faded away.

"Some of the footage is missing," Allen observed as Batman stood back up, "It's like it was never there."

Batman, meanwhile, walked over to the dead body of one of the guards. He pressed a piece of tape against the carcass' finger and pulled away, taking the fingerprint with it. He then shone the black-light onto the keyboard, revealing the fingerprints of the two guards and of Gordon, but of no one else, not even the Joker's.

"This just keeps getting weirder and weirder," Montoya whispered.

Batman then turned to Gordon, saying, "I'm going to need a copy of the security footage for closer inspection. There may be something we're all missing at the moment."

Gordon nodded, and Batman extracted a hard drive from the belt, proceeding then to plug it into the computer's port and download that section of footage. Montoya, meanwhile, spotted something sticking out of one of the dead guard's shirt pocket.

"You know what I just realized?" Allen then said, "There's a wild animal running around the streets of Gotham, axing off who knows how many people, and here we are trying to figure out who let him off the leash. Does anyone else notice something wrong with this picture, here?"

"Detective, calm down," Gordon said, trying to ease the tension, "We don't even know where he's gone."

"He's bound to leave a clue," Batman replied as he finished up the download and removed the hard drive.

"Why would he do that?" Allen questioned, "Wouldn't that make it simpler to catch him again?"

"With the Joker, it's never simple," Batman replied, "To him, it's all a game, and only he knows the rules…assuming that there are any rules at all." Gordon knew for a fact that he spoke from experience.

"I think I found a clue to what games he's playing," Montoya remarked. Gordon turned to see her holding up a torn up page from a National Geographic magazine, showing a photo of a Neanderthal sporting a red smile and darkened eyes.

He turned to ask Batman his thoughts on what it could mean, but found empty space instead. The other two detectives looked around as well, wondering where he went. "He does that," Gordon told them candidly.

* * *

Ariel had a rough time sleeping the previous night, and even now she felt the effects of not being able to get enough rest. It wasn't that the hotel bed that she slept in was uncomfortable or anything like that (as far as she was concerned, it had been the most comfortable thing she had ever slept in, period), but rather the memory of the double-haired woman, and of her shooting the man with the 'gun' (she had learned the word for the bizarre weapon in passing). It had all come out of nowhere; who would randomly injure one of their own kind like that? The words of her father, about how humans were barbarians, started to echo in her mind. She had vehemently disagreed with him at the time, but now she could somewhat see that he may have had a point…but she shrugged it off. Surely that female had been a one in a million exception; they weren't all like that, right?

Still, it had been enough to keep her awake in her bed for most of the night, and when she had woken up the next day she was surprised to find that the sun had already made most of its course across the sky. It didn't bother her too much; she had already spent most of yesterday collecting souvenirs, so now this helped her to focus on finding where the city guards were quartered. The experience had also been enough to make her more aware of her surroundings, however; as she wandered up, down and across the—what was the word again?—streets of this grand city, she noticed more and more the eyes that glanced her way, some of them with a glint she had seen before in the eyes of hungry sharks. She felt compelled to keep her satchel close to her whenever such eyes came prowling around.

The day dragged on, as did her feet on the pavement, and she found herself wandering around in circles; had she been able to, she would have asked for directions. But what good were directions when she couldn't communicate them or knew where it was that she wanted to go? Once or twice she had seen a black and white car with flashing blue and red lights screech by, but it fled as soon as it came, leaving her behind and unable to follow it.

As the air began to cool and the shadows began to lengthen, Ariel found herself walking in a place she didn't expect at all; a large area of cropped land grass and trees where humans were playing games either with their children or others their own age, holding hands with their mates, lying on the grass, or even just plain running around on pathways of concrete, dressed much like Chuck and Sheila had been. For once during the whole day, she felt somewhat at ease; was this some sort of sanctuary, she wondered, where humans could go to be relieved from the stresses of the day and stretch their legs? Her own legs began to ache, and she felt tempted to throw herself onto the grass, to feel what that felt like…but no, she told herself. First, she had to find the Manta Man, ask him her questions, and get some answers. After that, maybe, if she didn't feel the need to return to the sea and get back home. But what kind of questions should she ask? How did you interview a human dressed like a flying stingray? Come to think of it, how would she ask him to begin with? She grasped her throat in despair as she walked on through the place of green, and looked down at the black bracelet on her arm, distaste for it growing within her. Did becoming human really have to come at the price of her voice? She had been so lost and alone because of it; if it weren't for the fact that she would be beached far from a source of water, she would have taken it off right then and there…

She looked back up briefly, and any thought of doubt suddenly fled her mind and was replaced with wonder at the sight of an enormous regal building of stone, a long flight of steps flanked by large stone beasts leading up towards rotating doors beneath a roof supported by towering pillars. Was it a palace of some kind…or, she thought as a wide smile crept across her face, was it the place she had been looking for the whole time? It certainly seemed like the place where warriors would be quartered; there were even a few black and white cars with the red and blue lights parked in front, though they stood idly by.

However, this place had the most cars of that sort she had seen in one place; it was good enough for her.

The excitement of anticipation fueling her, she ran up the stairs past other people, and entered through the doorway into a lobby where, as she had become accustomed to, stood in line behind a row of visitors. When she at last reached the front, she gave the aged woman at the front desk some more green slips (she noticed briefly that she was starting to run low), and with that, she went her way through a short hallway, and entered a new room.

What she found there was enough to take her breath away; there, in the center of a massive rotunda, was the huge mounted skeleton of a land dragon, standing on two legs tipped with sharp talons upon a pedestal, and bearing a massive head with a maw full of long, dagger-like teeth, though it lacked wings and had pitifully small arms in proportion to its titanic body. Other than that little detail, it had to have been a truly terrifying monster in life.

Now she knew where she was; this had to be a place where the humans honored the conquests of their heroes, and this was just one of the trophies. Surely this had to have been the work of the Manta Man; after all, she had seen him blow up a ship of metal and defeat a legion of gun-wielding warriors. Taking down a land dragon, even though it had been a flightless one, had to have been a small feat for such a combatant of his caliber. Maybe, if she was lucky, she would be able to meet him here as well. But for now, she could take her time and see what else was here.

She continued, and her astonishment at the Manta Man's prowess only grew stronger and stronger with each and every trophy she saw; there were even more skeletons of land dragons to be found, along with the skeletons of beasts that she didn't have names for, some of them with huge curling tusks and razor claws. She even found and recognized the skeletons of sea dragons she was familiar with back in Atlantica (though for some reason, one of the humans leading a group of children kept calling them strange things like 'mosasaurs' and elasmosaurs'). She was a bit sad at not finding any of the kind that flew and breathed fire, but perhaps that was something the Manta Man hadn't gotten around to defeating yet—or, she thought with a wry smirk, all the flying dragons had heard of his prowess and decided not to challenge him for the sake of their own hides.

She then moved on to a hall where, instead of the skeletons of fantastic beasts, there were on display strange outfits on statues made of some type of glossy ceramic, and constructed scenes of people in strange costumes performing acts that, at first, didn't make a lot of sense, but eventually did with some thought; one scene, for example, showed statues in grey and blue pointing long guns and aiming large metal cylinders at each other against a backdrop painting of smoke, fire and destruction, while another displayed a large group surrounding a statue holding up a large golden pair of scissors over a long, red band of cloth. There were also other artifacts on display as well, some of which she recognized as being similar to some of the thingamabobs back in her collection, trapped inside glass boxes. Perhaps these were souvenirs and reconstructions of some of the Manta Man's travels and exploits across these strange worlds, she theorized. She couldn't be more jealous; the Manta Man's collection of treasures seemed to dwarf hers by comparison. She paused and looked over one scene, and could hardly imagine what it would be like to see a land inhabited by people who were forced to wear loincloths and furs, crouch like animals, and huddle around small fires while dwelling in caves against a primeval backdrop—though what did confuse her was the card that seemed randomly placed by the false fire. It had a small, sneering face on it with black lips wearing a three-pointed hat and a belled collar of some kind…

She was distracted, however, by the sound of a voice coming from another direction, that of an aged old man. "…lucky to find and secure these artifacts before any more development on that ice rink could be continued," he was saying, "Based on radio-carbon dating, they appear to be of Pre-Columbian origin, but no known tribes native to the Gotham area match the timeline, nor stylistically match this craftsmanship…"

She looked over to see the owner of the voice, dressed in black trousers and a blue buttoned shirt, speaking to another man in a dark suit, his back turned to her and blocking whatever it was the older man was talking about. Her curiosity piqued, she wandered her way over to see what they were talking about.

"…Our archaeologists may have very well stumbled onto evidence of a previously unknown civilization," the older man continued, "Pardon the shameless plug, but on behalf of the boys over at the university, we'd appreciate a small donation to further the cause."

"It's not a problem at all," the suited man replied, "History was never exactly my strong suit, but I don't think the city should share my weakness."

Ariel moved to the tall man's right so that she could have a peak at the mystery treasure, but then he unwittingly bumped into her, knocking her off her feet—but then strong hands caught her by the arms before she fell to the ground. She found herself looking into hazel eyes set in a sturdily built face with strong jaws, dark brown hair swept back into waving locks on top. She noticed that those eyes burned with a raw kind of power…

"Sorry about that," the man apologized as he set her back onto her feet. Ariel, lacking the power to put her reply into words, simply smiled and shrugged. She only realized right then and there that she was blushing.

"Ahem," the other man said, "Shall we move on with the private tour, Mister Wayne?"

"Of course," Mister Wayne said, and walked away with him to see the rest of the displays. Ariel stood there for a minute, not sure what to think. She had to admit, there was something about this 'Wayne' man…but she shrugged it off. She probably wasn't going to see him any time soon, anyway. She glanced over at what lay in the glass box…and raised her eyebrows in surprise.

It was several items, one the shaft of a spear, one the head of the spear, made of a material like volcanic glass, and another a round disc, again made of the volcanic glass-material. This was what caught her eye; its surface bore a symbol in the shape of a pill-shaped, multi-segmented arthropod with a broad, pronged head. She could also sense something emanating from the objects; something dark, powerful…something she hadn't felt since visiting the Sea Witch. Whoever owned these last must have been in possession of some seriously dark magic. She thought for a moment that she had seen that symbol somewhere before or at the very least heard a description of it. But where?

Well, she thought, whatever owned these, they can't do any harm now. She could hardly imagine what sort of magic the Manta Man had employed to defeat such enemies. It was odd, though, how these were all he could bring back. But maybe that was something she could ask him about later.

* * *

Ariel lost track of time while wandering in those halls, and now she found herself wandering back to the main atrium where the first dragon skeleton was (only now she began to notice that the people around her called it a 'tee wrecks', or something like that), having gone around the entire building in a circle. During however long it had been, she had seen a great deal of wonders in the Manta Man's collection, from precious stones to old documents that, for the life of her she could barely read. Curiously enough, however, she hadn't seen anything related to the Manta Man himself; there was no commemorative statue, no plaque, no medal, and no anything celebrating someone who, as far as she could tell, was the greatest of warriors the land had to offer. Didn't the people of this city feel the need to immortalize the hero who had done these great deeds? Or perhaps the Manta Man was too humble to allow them to do so? Either way, it was really frustrating for her.

"Attention," a disembodied woman's voice, shaded with a tinny sound, echoed through the building, "The museum will be closing in the next fifteen minutes."

Closing? What in the world did that mean? Apparently it meant something to the other humans, because many of them, upon hearing the announcement, started to make their way for the front entrance...wait, did that mean they had to leave? No! Ariel couldn't leave, not now! She hadn't found the Manta Man yet! What was she supposed to do now?

But then she had an idea, and the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like it would work: during her tour, she had seen an awful lot of places where one could hide and not be seen. Maybe if she hid herself somewhere, she'd be able to wait until the Manta Man himself arrived with another trophy to add to the collection. Then she could meet him in person, and then she could find out why he dressed in black and wore a mask…but first she had to find a place to hide, and to do that, she had to sneak away unseen. It was becoming more difficult however, as the number of visitors in the atrium began to increase as they departed the other halls, enough to make getting back in more and more difficult.

One small group of three or four men, hanging around in the back, caught her attention for some reason; she noticed that the clothes they wore were as unkempt and ragged as they themselves were, their heavy jackets bearing frayed edges and stains here and there. Then she saw their eyes; they glanced about as if on the lookout for something, yet they seemed dead to her, as if the person living inside there had been out and never came back…

The voice came back on again. "Attention, the museum will be closing in…" but then suddenly a high-pitched squeal cut it off, causing everyone to cover their ears to protect against the piercing shriek.

Then, a new voice, a man's, cut the air.

"Pay no attention to the answering machine, ladies and gentlemen," it said, "because this party's just getting started!"

Suddenly the thunder of an explosion sounded off somewhere in the building, followed by several more and the crumbling of stone and earth; dust billowed in from the front entrance in a brown cloud. All around her, people began to shout, scream, and run in all directions, knocking her about; she heard more banging sounds echo through the halls, just like the one from last night, accompanied by the pained cries of men. Through the chaos, Ariel saw that the men with dead eyes had donned outlandish white masks, caricatures of faces painted with red lips and bright hair. They had also pulled out guns from within their jackets and started pointing them at the others, shouting out threats and curses; the patrons were pushed back by their own terror, allowing the gunmen to herd everyone to an area of the atrium facing the dragon skeleton. Ariel, being caught in the middle of the crowd, was forced to go along with them, having nowhere else to go. Other patrons arrived from other parts of the building, herded in by more masked men with guns, adding to the number of panicked men, women and children. Ariel looked back and forth, as confused and worried as anyone else, wondering what in the world was going on. Why were they doing this?

Then, coming up from a staircase to the lower levels on the opposite end, Ariel saw a man arrive on the scene, firing a gun into the ceiling and shocking everyone into silent submission as he walked towards them. But this was like no other man she had ever seen; he wore a long purple overcoat, spotted with dust and scorch marks, above a lime-green vest, a blue shirt, and a striped tie, and his hands were outfitted with brown leather gloves. His long scraggly hair, though showing up as blond in some parts, was dyed an unnatural shade of green and flopped to one side. But his face—that horrible face—was a sickly white, while long, jagged scars ran along his face from both sides of his mouth and were painted over in red, resulting in the ghastly visage of a smile. His eyes, meanwhile, gleamed out from the black paint that surrounded them. He bared yellow teeth in an unsettling grin, like a shark about to bite down.

"Good evening, folks!" he said, "Did you all miss ol' uncle Joker?"


	5. Chapter 5

Trapped by the thugs and their guns, all innocent eyes were fixed on the Joker as he strolled past the foremost row of people. Ariel was stuck somewhere in the middle, but she was able to see the painted man well enough; given the way he was colored, he stood out like a tropical fish trying to hide in a bed of oysters. So this was the 'terrorist' that the glowing boxes from the night before had talked about as being dangerous, the one that everyone was so afraid of; it was very clear to her that something was wrong with this man, so maybe they were right to.

"Calm down, everyone," The Joker said, "We're not here to take your precious cash and jewelry; no no no no, we're going to have much more fun than that. How long has it been since my last outing? I want to say six or seven months at the most; I sure haven't been counting. They just don't tell you the time anymore at Arkham… But look what's happened! Everything's gotten so dull and quiet around here. And you've all gotten soft…" he paused to jab a portly man near him with the barrel of his gun, causing the human to nearly shriek with terror, "…without me around to liven up the place. But that's okay; I'm going to remedy that."

He then hopped up onto the pedestal where the dragon skeleton stood. "So, to start off this sleepover, who wants to play a game? Spin the bottle? Truth or dare? Pillow fight? I hope you brought your pillows!"

Nobody said a word.

"Well, that's disappointing," the Joker said despondently, "nobody brought their pillows. But that's okay!" He made a motion to one of his masked men, who took off running into the museum.

"I guess it's past your curfews anyway," the Joker continued, "But before you go, here's the deal: every last possible exit in the building is either blocked off by fresh rubble or one of my men, and the only real way out is through the front. Don't worry, don't worry, I'm gonna let each and every last one of you good people get back before bedtime, but like all good things in life, you've got to work for it. So we're going to play one quick game before we go home."

The thug came back, carrying a long sword and a double-headed battle axe in his arms. He handed them to the Joker, who tossed them onto the floor; the clanging they made as they made contact with the floor echoed throughout the building.

"Can I get two volunteers?" The Joker called out, "Just two?"

At first it was silent for a moment, but then one of the bolder of the patrons spoke up. "Volunteer for what?" he asked.

The Joker then bared those yellow teeth of his in that awful devil grin again. "I'd thought you'd never ask," he chuckled, "We may be in Gotham, but tonight, we're going to do as the Romans. It's quite simple, really: two of you come up, takes these two antiques, and whoever kills the other and wins this round, I'll let the winner walk out of here without any hindrance."

"…Then what?" the man asked again, amidst the hushed whispers and wailings in the crowd.

"Then we start the whole thing over again!" the Joker replied, throwing his hands into the air, "Of course we do the tango with two new people for the next round, and the round after that, and the round after that, and so on and so forth, until no one's left in here but me and my gang, and the winners get to go home safe and sound! It's a classic game of survival of the fittest!" Jabbing a thumb at the skull of the dragon, he said, "Old Rexy here would know all about that, now wouldn't he?" He then cackled, filling the building with the sound of his wheezing laughter, while the hostages gasped and stared in fear. The painted man then added, "And of course, if no one wants to get bloody…" He whistled, and two more goons entered, carrying a long metal box between them. They set it down right between the bony legs of the dragon, while the Joker pulled out a small device from within his purple coat. "…I push this button, and we all go down in flaming history."

Ariel couldn't believe what she had heard; this man expected them to kill each other for his amusement? It was clear that they couldn't simply attack the Joker themselves, given how many guns were pointed at them. This sick, twisted creature couldn't possibly be human…

The Joker then hopped down from the pedestal. "So," he said, "Who wants to go first?"

No one said a word; everyone was too frozen in their fear to do so (as far as Ariel was concerned, she didn't have much of a choice in the matter).

"Aw, come on, people!" the Joker protested, "It's just a little fight to the death! It'll be just like professional wrestling, only legit!"

Ariel racked her brain as she tried to think of a way to get them all out of this. She knew that she had to cut off the head of the eel; there had to be a way to incapacitate the Joker and take that magic box in his hand. She looked down at her satchel, and then remembered something that she had gotten the day before. Opening it, she reached in and grabbed a small orange toy car, its wheels spinning mindlessly in place.

The Joker, meanwhile, walked towards the people in the foremost row. "Doesn't anybody feel like getting out a little aggression?" he asked, "I would've thought everyone would jump at the ticket to freedom; it's a limited time offer, after all!"

Looking around to make sure the masked men weren't looking in her direction, she then lowered herself and began to sneak through to the front. She felt a hand grab her by the shoulder, and looked up to see a worried old human whisper, "What do you think you're doing?"

In response, she lifted her finger to her mouth, and showed him the car in her hand. To her relief, the man understood, and withdrew his hand. She continued, and positioned herself as close to the edge as she could without exposing herself. She held the car before her, and readied herself; her aim and timing had to be perfect. Their lives depended on it.

The Joker moved closer and closer to her position, twirling his gun in his hand. "Do I have to start volunteering people, myself?" he groaned, "It's not as much fun that way!"

He was almost right on top of them.

"Well," he sighed, "if that has to be the case…"

Through the legs of the humans before her, Ariel saw the Joker's shoe fall right in front of her. She jerked her hand forward, and the car slid off her palm, onto the floor, and right beneath the painted man's foot.

With a surprised grunt, the Joker suddenly toppled over and fell onto the ground, unbalanced by the toy car, while the gun slid away. Seeing her chance (and hearing a few muffled chuckles in the crowd as well), Ariel jumped forward and swatted the black box out of his hand, while the gun slid away on the floor. Moving off of the painted man, she scrambled to reach the gun. But then angry growls erupted in the air, and she felt something hard slam into her side, knocking the wind out of her and throwing her onto the floor, while her satchel was forced off of her shoulder. Rough hands grabbed her by the arms and lifted her up, and she looked as a masked man shoved the barrel of his gun against the temples of her forehead, yelling incoherently; she could see the white of his eyes through the holes of the mask, glaring at her, and yet they were still filled with that awful deadness.

Suddenly, the man looked over, and became silent, pulling away the gun from her, while the two men holding her ceased to jerk around. She looked over in the corresponding direction, and saw that the Joker, having gotten up onto one foot, was holding his hand up in the air, like a general giving a command. Plucking the box off of the floor, he stood up and turned, glaring right at Ariel, and began to walk towards her.

"That," he said in a low, eerily calm voice, "was very funny. Childish slapstick, true, but enough to get a cheap laugh in a cartoon. The only problem with it is that it upstaged _me_."

He came up close to her, enough for her to look into his venomous green eyes and smell the stench that hung around him. Softly clutching her by the back of the head, he whispered, "And nobody, no matter how pretty they are, upstages me, and gets away with it." The two thugs, meanwhile, released her arms and backed away, while the Joker pulled out a small metal knife and pressed the blade against her cheek. At this moment, she felt too terrified to move, trapped with no way out, no clever distraction, and no father to wield his trident to save her.

He leaned in close. "You wanna know how I got these scars?" he whispered into her ear, "This buddy of mine and I, we were in the army together, serving our country and all that. We thought we'd be heroes, going in and snuffing out the bad guys and being patriots…but then our convoy hit a landmine on the road. That shook both of us up, but not as much as it did when the bad guys got us, took our weapons, threw us in a basement, and shot one of our boys in the head each and every day, until we were the only ones left. Oh, we got our rescue, but my buddy was never the same after that. We went home, but he got so bad that his own wife up and left him. I took him in to take care of him, but we went broke pretty fast, trying to pay for his medical bills, and all the time my buddy just kept getting worse, and worse, and worse. Some nights, I listened to him calling out for help in the night, and there was nothing I could do. Then one day, I walk into the kitchen, and I guess I must have surprised him, because he leaped right out at me, grabbing me by the throat. He was going to kill me! So, I grabbed a knife on the counter, and jabbed, and jabbed, and jabbed until he stopped trying to choke me…it wasn't his fault. All I ever wanted was for him to live a normal life, but I just ended it. How was I supposed to come back from that? How do you come back from killing you're best friend?! Actually, it was very simple; I took that knife, and I gave myself a great big happy smile...kind of like this one."

But before he could make his move, the lights went out, and the whole atrium became black, with only the light of the stars leaking in through the glass dome high above. Gasps burst from the crowd, and even the thugs looked around nervously. The Joker, meanwhile, looked up not with apprehension, but with a gleeful expression, as if he expected this to happen. His eyes darted around in the dark before turning back to Ariel.

"We're not done yet," he growled to her, before putting away the knife and handing her back into the vise-like hands of the thugs. He turned and shouted towards the ceiling, "You're late! What took you so long? Did the car get a flat on the way over?" He grabbed a gun from one of his thugs and fired a couple of rounds into the air at random. "COME ON OUT! What are you waiting for, huh? Didn't you miss me while I was gone!?"

Ariel couldn't see a thing, but she thought for a moment that she heard a soft _swish_ followed by a swift thud and something collapsing onto the floor. She felt the hands of her captors loosen their grip slightly and shake nervously. Then, she heard something, several things actually, whooshing by in the air and land with a metallic thwack into several other things. Several loud bangs briefly illuminated the rotunda with bright flashes, and were accompanied by pained yells and the clattering of objects to the floor. The thugs' ringleader, however, seemed to ignore this.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" The Joker sang, "Papa's got a special surprise for ya…"

"That's too bad…," a deep, dark voice growled in the blackness. Suddenly there was the sound of flesh being pounded, along with a pained grunt from the Joker who fell onto the floor. The lights, meanwhile, returned in a bright flash, blinding Ariel for a moment. After her eyes adjusted, she looked up, and in her great astonishment and joy saw a tall man covered in black, plated armor with a long scalloped cape wrapping around him, a gleaming golden belt wrapped around his waist, a horned mask covering all but his mouth, and a symbol shaped like a horned flying creature on his chest, standing across from the Joker who laid on the floor as he grasped at a forming bruise on his forehead.

"…Because I'm already full of surprises," the Dark Knight finished.

Ariel couldn't believe it. Here was the Manta Man in the flesh at long last, right in front of her! Her efforts hadn't been in vain!

She looked around, and saw that the weapons of the thugs now laid on the floor in smoking pieces, forcing the gang to charge right at the Manta Man en masse, but as they came, each and every one was swiftly dealt a stunning blow to the midriff, the spine, or whatever part of them happened to be vulnerable. The goons holding Ariel let go of her to attack him, leaving her unguarded. The Joker, meanwhile, got up onto his feet, saying, "What did I tell you about starting with the head?!" He then leaped into the fray, jumping onto the Manta Man's back, and raised his knife into the air. But then the Manta Man grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him over his head and onto the floor, knocking the wind out of him with the impact. The Manta Man then turned to the crowd and shouted, "The exit's free! Go, GO!" With that, the crowd made a break for it and scrambled their way back to the front while the Joker's thugs were occupied. Getting back onto her feet, Ariel started to join them at first…but then she stopped in her tracks as she watched the Manta Man take on his enemies single-handedly. She hadn't quite fully seen combat on land before, so this was a marvelous sight to behold, putting her in a state of awe—but not enough so to make her forget her own personal safety. Wisely, she backed away for a good distance so that she could watch the action unfold.

After the others were left lying on the floor, keeled over in pain, a particularly large thug came and grappled with the Manta Man, and for the first time, it looked as though the hero was actually in deep water; he blocked the fiend's punches, and yet was still sent backwards a few inches with every blow. He tried to land a punch to the gut, but the brute caught him by the arm and threw his fist into the armored man's chest before pushing him onto the floor. The Joker stood back up again, only to throw himself onto the Manta Man, kneeling on his chest and holding the blade in his hand. But then the Manta Man grabbed him by the arms and threw him off again. The brute, meanwhile, reengaged the Manta Man in combat, locking arms with him in a contest of strength.

Behind them, the Joker collected himself, saw the two grappling, and grinned that awful smile of his as he picked up the old battleax from off of the ground. "Let's try this again, shall we?" he hissed, and began to walk towards the Manta Man from behind.

Ariel saw this from her hiding place, and realized what was going to happen. She looked around desperately, and found one of the larger pieces of what used to be one of the thug's guns. Picking up the weapon in her hands, she charged towards the Joker and raised it high into the air, ready to strike him in the skull…

But then something slammed into her head, filling her own skull with blinding pain and causing her ear to ring uncontrollably. She felt herself fall, and everything around her began to blur and fade into blackness…

* * *

It took a moment, but Batman managed to get the enormous henchman into position so that he could land a kick to his enemy's stomach and throw him onto the floor. With the last of the henchmen out of commission, he turned around and saw the Joker looking at Harley Quinn, her red and black hair styled into two pigtails with bells on the end, her face covered in white face-paint with black around the eyes, wearing a black leather jacket over a scarlet corset along with skintight black jeans, standing over the unconscious form of a redheaded young woman as she leaned against a comically large mallet.

"Not-Redd?" Quinn asked, looking thoroughly surprised, "Huh! Small town, am I right? Sorry about that bonk on the head; nuttin' personal."

"You know her?" The Joker asked.

Quinn shrugged. "Not really," she replied.

"Well then," the Joker grinned, tossing his switchblade from one hand to the other. "Put her near the fire…" but before he could finish, Batman charged in from behind, tackling him to the ground and pinning him there.

"I'm getting tired of this, Joker," Batman growled.

"Really? That's a shame," the clown replied, "Because I could do this all night!"

"Who let you out of Arkham?" Batman demanded, "There was no way you could have gotten out yourself."

"Well, I wish I could tell you that, I really do, but I just can't."

"Why not?"

The Joker smiled, and said, "Spoilers, big daddy! You'll just have to wait a couple of chapters to find out!"

Suddenly, a very large mallet slammed into Batman's side with incredible force, knocking him off of the Joker. "Hands off my Mistah Jay, BATS!" Harley's voice shouted. He immediately regretted having underestimated Quinn's potential, and for not having dealt with her sooner.

Harley, meanwhile, helped the Joker back onto his feet, saying, "We're all set, puddin'!"

"Good job, punkin," The Clown replied, "You wanna take a couple of swings while I take care of some unfinished business?"

Harley nodded, and soon set upon Batman with the mallet with a wild cry. Still recovering from the first blow, he struggled to dodge each strike by rolling out of the way—but even then Harley managed to get in one or two. She raised the mallet high into the air, ready to land a killing blow…but then a whistle called her off, and she trotted back to her boss' side next to the black bomb sitting between the tyrannosaur's legs.

"Like I said, I could do this all night," The Joker said, "But unfortunately I have other appointments, so, so long for the present!" He then withdrew the detonator from his coat and pressed the button. A gleaming red counter appeared on the bomb: fifty seconds and counting. Joker and Harley took off into the museum, followed by his thugs who staggered behind him. But then the Clown paused for a moment to shout back to the Dark Knight, "By the way, I hope you like your meat well done!" His cackling laughter trailed off into the distance.

Batman, overcoming the pain from Quinn's blows, struggled to get onto his feet. He ran towards the bomb, it's timer down to thirty-five seconds. Given his experiences, that should be enough time to deactivate it and resume tracking down the Joker…

But then he looked up for a fleeting moment, and saw the redheaded girl tied to the box. At first he was surprised that the Joker would do this; all he had to do was simply deactivate the bomb in time and everything would fall into place. Why leave the girl here?

Then, he noticed a clock on the side of the entryway to the rest of the museum, one that he hadn't seen earlier, a clock that was ticking down twenty nine seconds in bright red digital numbers. Turning around, he saw other 'clocks' plastered onto the walls in the rotunda, all counting down until the time that each and every one of them would go off.

There wasn't nearly enough time to deactivate all of them.

As fast as he could, Batman opened a compartment on his gauntlet and punched in a digital command. He then extracted one of his batarangs and sawed through the cords binding the girl to the black box.

Nineteen seconds and counting.

Up above, there was a thrumming sound coming through the roof. Several rounds of cannon fire later and a shower of glass came raining down; Batman shielded himself and the girl from whatever shards fell through the ribcage of the dinosaur. The belly of the Batwing, meanwhile, hovered up above, blowing wind into the rotunda.

Thirteen seconds and counting.

At last the cords gave, and Batman hoisted the girl's unconscious body over his shoulder. He grabbed the grappling gun from his holster, and shot it through one of the openings in the metal frame, where it latched onto one of the edges of the craft.

Five seconds and counting.

He pulled the trigger, and felt himself lifting up into the air at high speed. At the moment he and the girl shot through the opening, the Batwing automatically moved forward, away from the roof and away from the thunderous explosion that sent a flaming inferno through the place where the dome had been, the flames licking at his boots and bits and pieces of debris and rubble striking him with the shockwave. Holding to the grapple gun with all his strength, he briefly turned to see the front portion of the museum fall apart, while a large crowd of policemen backed out of the way of the raining debris.

They sailed over the park for some distance, before the Batwing settled over the roof of a shopping center. Grateful, Batman let himself drop onto the gravel and set the girl down, while the aircraft landed a short distance away. Here in the moonlight, he managed to get a good look at the young woman; he recognized her from earlier when, as Bruce Wayne, he had been scouting the museum for signs of the Joker.

The Joker.

Batman turned to look across the cityscape, with its bright lights glittering in the night, while police sirens wailed quietly in the distance. The Joker was still out there…

He then looked back at the girl before her. As long as the clown was on the loose, she wasn't safe.


	6. Chapter 6

"...while eyewitness accounts confirm that the masked vigilante known as 'Batman' was the one who allowed for the escape of the nearly forty known hostages, officials continue to refuse a confirmation," the TV reporter, a blonde woman in a navy blue suit and dress, said as the distant orange and yellow glows of the flames behind her were being sprayed away by firemen, while the blue and red banner labeled 'JOKER BOMBS NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM' was emblazoned in front of her. "However, it has been confirmed that the Joker, who as I stated before, attempted to pit the hostages against each other in gladiatorial battles to the death, remains at large…"

Alfred Pennyworth remained seated on the brown leather couch and kept his aged eyes on the television, not daring to look away as he drank in every word the reporters had to say about the disaster. He tried his best to breathe deeply, while assuring the terrified part within him that Master Bruce had gotten himself out just fine and that he needn't worry. But even then, there was the awful feeling that maybe for the first time in three years these mantras would become pre-packaged lies. How could he not shush away such suspicions when every night he turned on the news to hear whether or not Master Bruce's latest exploits had gotten him killed in action? In a rather extreme way, he felt like the parent of a wayward teenager waiting for the telephone to ring and hear the police on the other side—of course, most teenagers didn't dress up and do battle with terrorists and gangsters on a nightly basis, as far as he knew. He considered it a miracle that not once he had resorted to alcohol to sedate himself.

Of course, that would not have been proper for someone like himself to do at all, especially given his track record. And what example would that set for the young master? No, no, Master Bruce was twenty-five years old, he was a man now, and what his wrinkled, white-haired butler did should not influence what he did. But then his mind flashed back to the deathly grey afternoon when a young boy in a miniature suite came to his arms, his eyes flooding over and self-accusations bubbling out of his small mouth. That small boy had looked up at him with those hazel eyes as more than an employee that day…

He felt a buzzing in the left pocket inside his suit jacket, and from it he removed a small black device that fit in the palm of his hand. A button, shaped in the silhouette of a red bat, flashed repeatedly, a preemptive sign that Master Bruce was indeed alive—but in what condition? They only used this alert in case of emergencies…

Grabbing the remote and clicking the images of fire and entropy away into welcome black, Alfred stood up and walked down the opulent, gold-lit hallways towards the main study in the southeast wing, more briskly than he usually did. Entering in through the glass doors, he approached an ancient piano stationed across from a bookshelf of rarely-perused literature, and tapped three of its faded keys. At the final note, the bookcase slid away into the wall, uncovering the interior of a steel elevator. He entered and pressed the down button, while the door shut behind him. Gravity then kicked in, and Alfred felt his body lift slightly during the thousand-foot descent. With a brief increase of weight to signal the end of the trip, the door opened, and he stepped through a brick tunnel into clammy darkness fended off by impersonal fluorescent lights. They illuminated a titanic cavern riddled with the noise generated by water running in streams from the outside, providing the source of the small lake at the center of the cave; the only other light came in through the roaring of the waterfall that shielded the only other entrance. High above, chattering and the flapping of leather wings could be heard, with only brief glimpses to suggest a presence other than human (along with the occasional pile of guano). There were multiple platforms on different levels of the cave, the uppermost hosting several idle large computer displays and a landing platform, while other levels, accessed by a set of metal stairs, hosted such things as a training facility, a locker full of spare Batsuits, a forensics laboratory, and a garage where the Tumbler and a spare Bat-pod were kept—though with the acquisition of the Batwing, Master Bruce had barely used these. Personally, Alfred couldn't blame him, from what he had gathered about the aircraft and its plenitude of capabilities.

After a moment, he heard a soft roaring sound come in through the waterfall, and the Batwing itself entered through the spray and flashing it across. Blowing up a mild windstorm, the black vehicle touched down on the landing pad, and the windshield slid out of the way. Batman, who was thankfully alive and with no immediately obvious injuries, hopped out of the cockpit, and once again, Alfred allowed himself a sigh of relief—but then he was surprised to see Batman turn back to the cockpit, reach in, and come back with the limp body of a young woman, about eighteen or nineteen it seemed, with long, thick hair that was almost exactly the color of a stop sign, in his arms. Covering up the lower portion of her face was a small medical mask that no doubt was pumping anesthesia into her lungs, while on her arm a black metal bracelet was visible, clamped onto the skin.

"This isn't usually how your dates arrive home, Master Bruce," Alfred remarked as Batman approached, "Whatever happened in there?"

"The Joker tied her to one of the bombs he planted in the museum," Batman explained, "There wasn't enough time to stop them and get her out."

"And instead of putting her in the safety of police custody, you bring her here," Alfred observed, "A logical conclusion."

"She humiliated the Joker," Batman said, laying the girl down on the table, "And when someone does that, they almost never survive."

"I see, sir," Alfred said. He knew too well about what he referred to; there were simply too many images of men and women alike with smiles carved into their faces that had been on the displays, not to mention the myriad other gruesome ends that other people had met…including people close to Bruce. Perhaps it wasn't too unusual for Master Bruce to go the extra mile in preserving this girl's life after all. "Is she quite alright, sir?" he asked.

"She's suffered a mild concussion," Batman diagnosed, "But it won't lead to any lasting damage. She'll be fine."

Turning to a console, Batman pressed in a numeral command, and a robotic arm covered in gleaming white panels, reminiscent of a dental x-ray generator, emerged and unfolded from beneath the table and extended over the table. Stopping over the girl, the very end of the arm emitted a blue glow as it swept over the girl's face; in one of the computer monitors appeared a computer-generated rendering of her face. Batman, meanwhile, pressed another key, prompting a panel to open up on the left side of the table. He took the girl's hand and pressed the palm of it onto the panel, where another blue light shone forth and swept across. Correspondingly, the image of the girl's handprint appeared on another one of the monitors, while the text 'SEARCHING POLICE DATABASE' appeared above a loading bar.

"Wouldn't it be simpler just to ask her name and address once she recovers from the anesthesia, sir?" Alfred asked, "This seems to be a bit excessive, to say the least."

"The sooner I can get an ID, the better," Batman replied. "Besides, this may all come in useful; I can keep a close eye on her if the Joker isn't caught soon enough."

"Very well, sir. My, the past several weeks have been quite hectic, haven't they?" Alfred remarked, "Not only is the Joker loose, but you still have that 'Mister Jones' fellow to track down, on top of the remainder of Sionis' forces."

"The Joker is the number one priority at the moment," Batman said. He then removed the helmet-like mask and exposed the man that Alfred was more fully familiar with, and placed it on the table next to the girl. "After that," Bruce continued, "it'll be back to finding Killer Croc."

"Assuming no one else decides to paint the town, of course," Alfred said. "And what about that mystery rescuer of yours, by the way?"

Bruce turned to look at him, somewhat surprised.

"Forgive me sir, but I did see that seashell you brought back after the weapons' bust," Alfred explained, "We both know you hadn't been out taking a late night swim on purpose. It seems that whoever decided to lend you a helping hand has a familiar inclination for leaving calling cards."

"I'm not sure," Bruce replied, "but it's probably not worth looking into, anyway. Not that I'm ungrateful or anything, but it's just that it's hard to find a trail when it's in the water."

"Well, you are the world's greatest detective," Alfred responded, "I'm sure you'll figure it out." Feeling the need to change the subject, Alfred added, "Any idea of what the Joker is up to this time?"

"Other than spreading panic?" Bruce asked in return, "I'm not sure, but I get the sense that there's a theme emerging in this. Either way, I'm more curious as to who let him out; he had no associates in Arkham at the time..."

"Well, when he's caught again, I'm sure that he'll tell all," Alfred assured him. But even then it was a somewhat hollow assurance; it didn't seem like the Joker was someone who would share all of their secrets at once.

Right on cue, the load bar became completely filled with green, and the results lined up along the monitor. However, the results were less than conclusive; the two or three faces that arrived only shared minor semblances to the unconscious girl on the table (including, uncomfortably enough, a Miss Pamela Isley), none of them corresponded completely; the hand and fingerprints only further emphasized the girl's unique nature. Master Bruce's brow furrowed at the results.

"Clearly she's a tourist," Alfred observed, "Perhaps a wider search will be more satisfactory."

"If that's the case," Bruce mused, "She may be better off than I realized. But just in case…" he then extracted a small syringe from a drawer in the table, and inserted the needle into the girl's arm. Red fluid soon appeared in the glass tube; disposing of the needle, he inserted the barrel into a nearby machine shaped somewhat like the kind that sowed.

"Sir, you do realize that a search of the state or national database will take up more than a few days?" Alfred warned him.

Bruce nodded.

"And you're also aware that a DNA analysis will potentially take twice that amount of time?" Alfred added, "Perhaps more than necessarily so."

"I'll send a sample over to Lucius," Bruce explained, "That should lighten the load, somewhat."

"And what about in the meantime?" Alfred asked, "Surely you don't expect her to stay down here for however long that may be." However, Alfred had a feeling that he already knew the answer. Master Bruce confirmed that with a knowing glance.

Smiling, Alfred turned and said, "Well, at least someone will be around to enjoy the stuffed crab."


	7. Chapter 7

Sunlight stirred Ariel out of the depths of slumber, and also made her aware of the biting, concentrated cold on the side of her head. That, however, was strangely countered by the overall warmth and soft cloth and fabric that enveloped her slim frame, far outclassing the hotel bed she had slept in before; was this how laying down in a cloud felt like? She couldn't remember having ever rested her body on something more comfortable, not even the finest sand on the remotest of beaches.

Forcing her eyes open and blinking away the gummy feeling in them, she pulled herself up and peered around; she was in a mid-size room of light yellow walls hidden behind broad paintings of rolling fields of grass against white mountains, portraits of humans colored in brown, grey, and the normal color range, and two pieces of ornately designed furniture, a dresser and a case with shelves loaded with books, respectively. The dresser, sitting next to a large thick door, sat directly across from her and held a mirror on top of it that reflected a red-haired girl with bright blue eyes, a small white packet strapped to the side of her head, sitting in a broad bed of blue and white blankets of sheets with intricately carved posts of wood beneath a portraiture of a man, woman, and small boy. Across from her on the left was a large window with grey light coming through the thin curtains.

Ariel wondered, _How in the world did I get here_? She thought back to what had happened before; she remembered the Manta Man, the Joker, her holding a large chunk of a gun, then the blinding pain and darkness…Something had to have happened between then and now to get her here. But what? Had something stolen her away during her unconsciousness? It seemed obvious that the Joker couldn't have accomplished this, but still...

A creak whined through the air from the door. Ariel jumped at the sound and her limbs retracted and stiffened, but loosened as a man with white hair and kindly grey eyes set in a wrinkled face, stepped in through the opening, wearing a black suit and carrying a silver tray laden with bowls and plates bearing food.

"Oh, I see you've awoken," the man said in a deep voice flavored with a strange yet fascinating accent, "My apologies for startling you, Miss." He set the tray down on a table next to her, allowing Ariel to see more clearly the inside of the bowl filled with the white 'milk' stuff along with small tan rings, the dish holding slices of an orange-colored fruit (pineapple, she assumed), and right next to them the finest looking knife and miniature shovel that she had ever seen.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the old man said, "My name is Alfred Pennyworth, but you may call me Alfred. You had fallen unconscious during the attack on the museum, and Master Wayne was kind enough to allow you to stay as a guest here at Wayne Manor for the time being."

Wayne? At first Ariel searched her memory to figure out where she had heard that name, but then it came to her; the tall handsome man who had caught her from falling back at the trophy collection, the other man had called him by that name. Was this his home?

"He would be here to greet you personally, but he has business at the moment. He should be back this evening, assuming nothing else happens to throw a wrench into his schedule," Alfred went on, "If I may be so bold, might I inquire into your name?"

At first she was ready to tell him, but then she remembered why she couldn't. She tapped lightly on her throat and shook her head.

Alfred seemed slightly dismayed at this. "Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry," he said, "So unfortunate…" but then he reached inside the breast of his suit and pulled out a pad of yellow paper and a pen. "Perhaps you could write it down?"

Of course! Ariel hadn't thought of that! It would have made things so much simpler! Snatching the paper and grabbing the pen, Ariel began to make the initial marks…but then another fact held her back. She only knew how to write in Mermanic, and she doubted the linguistic skills of one of the landfolk. The only land letter she knew how to write well was the letter _A_, having connected it to her own name, and even then she could only carve it into the inside of a cockle shell. Then again, she had seen and heard some bits and pieces that sounded like parts of her own name on the street; it was probably worth a shot to see if she could translate and incorporate them as best as she could.

Thinking carefully, she clutched the pen in her fist and softly jabbed the wet end of it into the surface. She found to her astonishment that, unlike the shell, the paper needed little persuasion to allow the thin black line to appear. Emboldened by this, she proceeded with the _A_, followed by the best approximation of the rest of her name as she could do. The result wasn't pretty, but she hoped at the very least it was understandable. Satisfied, she handed the pad back to Alfred, who looked over it as if he had seen a decaying carcass by surprise.

"Arrreeellll?" he murmured as his eyes squinted at her writing. Looking very concerned, he turned around to squint at the paper some more. Ariel, meanwhile, turned her attention to the bowl holding the milk and brown rings. She wasn't quite sure what to do with this food; she knew the milk was something to be drunk, but then why was it clogged with all these tiny little loops? Perhaps they had to be eaten first; she nimbly plucked one out of them out of the bowl and popped it into her mouth. The taste was unique, to say the least; it reminded her of the toast in a way, only more condensed, and of course drenched with milk. She continued in the minutiae of the work, but she began to get the feeling that this may have been more work than necessary for eating…

"Hmm, very well," Alfred said as he turned around back to her, "I'll be right with you as soon as I…" He stopped midsentence and his eyes widened as he saw Ariel picking out the rings from the milk. She froze once she saw the look on his face; clearly she had done something very wrong.

"…The restroom is just down the hall to your left. Let me know if you need anything," he said quickly and prudently, before walking out of the room.

Okay, so that's not how you eat this stuff, she decided. After a few moments of deliberation, she decided to simply slurp the whole mixture, which surprisingly enough turned out to be the much more efficient and tasty method (although at first it was a bit messy). She set the bowl back onto the tray and decided to try the fruit as she pondered about her situation. She had gotten so close to actually meeting the Manta Man, and once again he had slipped out of her grasp like an eel; how was she supposed to find him now? Wait a minute, she thought. The Wayne man seemed influential enough for the other man to treat with respect and honor; was he some sort of ruler? If that was the case, then maybe he could set up some sort of arrangement for her to meet with the Manta Man and finally get a souvenir from him…

The word 'souvenir' fluttered around in her mind for a moment before landing on a thought. Where was her satchel?

* * *

The beatings from last night still stung in the shoulders and abdomen, but Bruce knew for a fact that it could have been a lot worse; in the past three years of his crime-fighting alone he had to put up with bullet wounds, poisoning, slashing, and even lacerations from dog bites. At least this time he had managed to get out of the museum without any burns.

Still, the blows he had taken manifested themselves quite acutely, forcing him to watch how he positioned himself while the blonde woman before him flashed her manicured teeth in plastic smiles as she interviewed him about a great variety of topics, including a certain fling that he had with a certain movie star. A fling that in reality never happened, but of course Bruce had an image to keep up. The planned conversation eventually switched over to the museum attack from last night.

"As I understand, you were actually at the museum an hour or so before the Joker attacked," the interviewer said as she leaned in closer to fake curiosity, the facets on her dress flashing in the spotlight, "That must have been shocking!"

_Hardly. The vandalized picture of the Neanderthal from the crime scene at his cell was a fair enough clue, but it did require some investigation to verify that it would be his first target._

"Well yeah, it was," Bruce replied, "I'm lucky I got out of there when I did. And it's lucky that Batman showed up when he did."

"Too true," the interviewer nodded, "Tell me, what exactly were you doing there at the time?"

_I was scanning the area for any verification that the Joker really was going to strike there; he usually leaves a calling card before he does. Fortunately or unfortunately, whichever way you see it, he did._

"I thought I'd stop by for a quick tour and see what new exhibits they had; the Wayne Foundation regularly donates to the museum, and it was good to see where the money was going. And," he added, "I'll personally make sure those donations go to the new repairs, maybe even a little remodeling."

_Not to mention an update in the security systems._

"Well thank you for stopping by and having a chat," the interviewer stated before she turned to the camera. "Coming up next on Entertainment Gotham, we give you an exclusive sneak peek at the upcoming Supernatural Spectacular with Gotham's very own Zatanna Zatara! Stay tuned for your chance to win free tickets to the show!"

At long last, the director shouted cut, the cameras turned away and the lights dimmed. While the interviewer (for the life of him, Bruce couldn't remember her name) strolled offstage and shouted for a cigarette, Bruce made his way to get some refreshments at the table before heading back out to the limousine that would take him back to the office. Adjusting his tie and collar, he felt his phone buzzing in his suit pocket. He plucked it out, and seeing Alfred's name on the screen, he immediately pressed the answer button and pressed the phone to his ear, making sure to speak in a low voice so the stage hands wouldn't overhear.

"Hello, Alfred?" he answered, "What is it."

"Hello, Master Bruce. It seems that our sleeping beauty has awoken."

"Have you been able to get any information?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. I was able to get the name 'Ariel'—or at least, I assume that's the name. The handwriting is terribly illegible."

"Handwriting?"

"Yes, it seems she is mute, and at the same time slightly handicapped, to say the least."

Well, that threw a wrench in things. At first it didn't seem right; the first time that Bruce had encountered her, she seemed well enough to properly function in society. Then again, he of all people knew that even the finest houses could hold some dark secrets.

"Might be a result of the head injury," Bruce deduced, "Or post-traumatic stress. I'll come back after my meeting with Lucius to have a look at her; until then, keep me updated."

"Very good, sir," Alfred said before the line cut out.

* * *

Her heart pumping faster and faster with the rising panic, Ariel had combed through every possible hiding place in her room before resorting to bursting out of the room and into a long hallway of polished marble, one wall lined with busts and paintings while another was nothing more than a long stretch of glass overlooking green fields of land-grass specked with trees, leading up to the spires of the distant city. But to these, she paid no attention; the satchel was top priority. Her bare feet slapped against the chilling stone floor and echoed through the halls as she searched for Alfred. She was almost tempted to throw off the bracelet and simply call out his name…but then she wouldn't have legs, and she wasn't eager to go through the process of getting them back again. Not now, anyway.

She quickened her pace and her aimless pursuit lead her down three flights of stairs and into an open foyer with a massive chandelier hanging from high up in the ceiling, but still no Alfred. She went on, and after going through two rooms, she finally found the old man standing by a long wooden table, sipping from a cup of something that steamed, while a stack of folded papers sat nearby. At the sound of her footsteps, he looked up in surprise.

"Why Miss Ariel," he said, "Whatever is the matter?"

She rushed towards him, and stopping a pace away from him, she desperately tried to mime the idea of a satchel, clutching her fist and running it up and down by her shoulder to suggest a strap.

"I'm sorry," Alfred said, "But I'm not sure what you…"

Her eye caught sight of an image on the paper, especially the glimpses of red, orange and black. Something about it commanded her attention. Snatching it up, she scanned what it had to offer; while she could barely read the black letters that swarmed over the white material like ants and flies, she did recognize the image of a tall, regal building in the background, even as it collapsed into orange-yellow flames that lit up the smoke billowing into the sky.

"Oh, yes," Alfred commented, "Quite a terrible thing, indeed. It's fortunate that everyone managed to get out before that happened; I can't imagine anything in that part of the museum surviving that sort of explosion, not intact anyway…"

Her memories came back to her; she remembered that being the last place she had the satchel, and she remembered the painted man standing on a large black box, saying something about flaming history…

Then it hit her, and the force of it caused her fingers to loosen, allowing the papers to fall to the floor in a cascade of black and white.

"Miss, are you alright?" Alfred asked.

Her hands started to rake her hair, and her heart beat faster, almost in pace with her breath. Before Alfred could do anything, she sprinted out of the dining room and back to the bedroom, her eyes flooding over with saltwater. Ringing over and over, the awful statement wouldn't leave her mind:

_The Gem was in there…I'm never going home!_


End file.
